I Will Never Let You Leave Me
by Lirie Halliwell
Summary: When her dreamworld begins to crack and nightmares seep into her life and overrule everything she ever believed in, Ginny has no other choice but to run. But when her hero becomes yet another threat, the Fates bring an unexpected aid to her side.
1. When

**Disclaimer:** Okay, I always forget about these things. Listen up, this is NOT MINE! I'm just using the characters for my own twisted pleasure. Dance, puppets, _dance!_

**Author's Notes:** This may seem a bit too morbid in the beginning (god knows it did to me), but if I continue it, I'll probably ease it up. A lot!

I apologize to all Harry/Ginny shippers who stumble upon this piece… sorry guys >. Enjoy

* * *

**When**

_"I love you, Ginny. We will be together forever, I will never leave you and I will never let you leave me…"_

When Ginny first heard those words, gazing into Harry's face through many layers of tears, sweat and dirt, she could have sworn her heart exploded. It happened after the final battle against Voldemort, at the end of Ginny's sixth year at Hogwarts. A Death Eater threatened Ginny and Harry had saved her from sure demise. Then realizing how close he had been to losing her completely, Harry finally admitting his true feelings - his love for her.

Ginny was covered head-to-toe in dirt, her hair a mess, her eyes red and puffy, she had a runny nose and her face was pinched in fear and pain, stained with tears and blood. The bodies of those who didn't survive surrounded them. Cries of battle curses, charms and spells could still be heard. This wasn't at all the romantic atmosphere she pictured so many times.

As he cupped her face between his hands and gazed straight into her eyes, she forgot everything. Her body tightened and her mind numbed as he pulled her closer veiling her lips with his own. Her knees weakened and she yielded into his embrace, so soft and comforting. Her mind screamed in feverish delight as he trailed his tongue into her mouth, slowly and intoxicatingly granting her a first kiss. This was the best moment of her life and she was sure she would remember it forever.

* * *

Ginny grinned in sheer joy as Harry said the exact same sentence in his wedding vows. She clung to him as the minister pronounced them husband and wife - feeling as though she were soaring to the top of the world. Unable to withhold her laughter any longer, she giggled as they kissed and hurried from the white chapel, feeling exhilarated by the strong sense of belonging. She was the happiest woman alive - so blessed to have him. After all the years she had carried a torch for Harry Potter she felt almost unbelievably happy, light and above all, loved. He did love her - so very much…

In the first months of their marriage she found Harry's grumbling and glaring, whenever she talked to other men, endearing. She laughed at his pricks of jealousy as if he were an indignant four-year-old. She soothed him with butterfly kisses and held him closer to herself, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. _"I will never leave you, you hear me?" _

His face brightened up and his green eyes twinkled with affection when he replied as always,_ "I will never let you leave me."_ He would embraced her tightly, inhaling the soft scent of her tresses and smiled widely to himself. He kissed her, swept her into his arms and would lead the way to the bedroom, where they fell upon the soft white sheets, entangled in their own passion.

* * *

The first time Ginny witnessed Harry's temper was one night when she was late home from work. He was riled up, screaming and roaring spiteful things, and she found herself cringing away from him. He accused her of sleeping with everyone in her office and claimed to see her go into hotels with many men. He broke all of their dishes, a table, some chairs and a glass bookcase before she could calm him down, swearing on her life she loved him and only him and never even wanted to be with another. She cooed around him, excusing his behavior with the excessive stresses of Auror's position and healed the wounds on his hands. He said he was sorry - claimed to not know what came over him and asked her repeatedly whether she knew how much he loved her and how he would never leave nor would he ever let her leave him.

* * *

When Harry struck Ginny for the first time it was when he saw her having lunch with her editor - Tomas Brooks. He bellowed like a wild beast, breaking everything in their little house and when she tried to calm him down, to explain it was just a lunch with her editor and that they discussed her next assignment, he punched her.

Seeing the consequences of his own acts, he rushed to kneel beside her, tears pouring from his eyes as he embraced her tightly, apologies flowing out of his lips between his quick and eager kisses. He begged her to forgive his foolish mistake and promised with all his being that it would never happen again. He rocked her in his arms back and forth, while she nursed her swollen eye and wept silently, listening to him chant that sentence over and over.

* * *

By the time she realized it was enough, it nearly cost Ginny her life.

After the last incident Harry became more gentle and caring, wooing her all over again - bringing her flowers everyday. She took a couple of days away from her job for personal reasons and he couldn't have been happier. For a while everything returned to normal - it was like a second honeymoon. Everything was absolutely perfect and Ginny's eye quickly healed. Harry became brighter, he smiled more and that made Ginny smile more. He would kiss her and hold her in the middle of the living room without any apparent reason. He proclaimed his love in rhymes until she collapsed onto the couch in uncontrollable fits of giggles.

Soon the couple-of-days had turned into a week, then into two-weeks and when the date approached a month since her departure from work, she received a call from her editor saying she had to return to work or clear her desk. She told Harry she wanted to leave for work the next day and, out of the blue, he started raving again.

He shouted in rage and, when she told him she was getting tired of his outbursts, it was her life and she would leave for work the following morning whether he liked it or not, he struck her again. Only this time, he did not stop after only one punch. His fists maimed her again and again, each strike leaving big blue orbs on her legs, arms, stomach and her face, with each blow he chanted, "_You won't leave me! I will not let you leave me! _"

When she finally broke free, she grabbed a vase and brought it down on his head. She fled out of the house, without looking back, realizing something had snapped inside of her. As she ran through the streets, distancing herself from the man she loved so much for so long, she felt her tears drying out and a strange cold detachment engulfed her.

* * *

When Ginny ran into Draco for the first time since he had graduated, she never knew it would be the cause of the second major twist of Fate in the same night.

She continued running for more than an hour after she left her house, afraid Harry might have followed. She darted through the night streets, not quite knowing where she was heading. Her legs were sore and she felt she might break soon. Her lungs burned with blazing pain every time she inhaled and though she wasn't crying anymore, her vision was blurry and the threat of stumbling hovered over her, but she did not stop.

Just when she reached the brink of her strength, she bumped into someone with such force it sent her flying backwards. She landed on the cold asphalt and didn't care who it was, when she heard a swift curse escape his lips. She remained on the ground, embracing her knees and refusing to glance up. Minutes passed as she waited for the stranger to bark at her something and go away, but he didn't and she still sensed him standing beside her.

Then she saw his knees bend and he was crouching beside her; his eyes trying to search hers amidst her furious red hair. Reluctantly, she glanced at him over her knees and was about to mutter something, when she froze. Platinum blonde locks tumbled down, framing his aristocratic face; silver eyes were veiled with a thick shroud of coldness; and his lips were carved into impenetrable bleak veneer. All the features gathered up perfectly into a face she knew so well and had learned to hate.

Within only a few moments, Ginny saw his exterior change couple of times - at first, his cold features proclaimed something that resembled concern; then, upon comprehending who she was, his features shifted into a vicious sneer; and finally, when his eyes rested upon her blue bruises, swollen wounds and rolling beads of blood, his expression changed all together into something she could not determine. She saw his fingers fidget slightly and understood he was fighting the instinctive desire to wipe the blood away from the corner of her lip. He tightened his fingers into a fist and remained crouched beside her. She couldn't avert her gaze and allow him to see her weakness. He watched her wordlessly for a long while before breaking the silence.

"Gods, Weasley… you look like crap!" he proclaimed, but his voice lacked his usual mocking tone.

It seems he just stated a fact and not an insult. She also noticed he called her by her maiden name and for that she was utterly grateful. He slowly stood up and Ginny felt a relief flood through her, realizing he was leaving, but he stayed put. He reached down suddenly and his slender fingers laced around her arm, carefully bringing her up.

Ginny allowed him to lift her, but squirmed out of his hold as soon as she was secured in her stance.

He watched her for a while longer and then tilted his head, indicating for her to follow. He moved onwards, but noticing she was not beside him, he turned back to her. "Are you coming?"

Ginny gazed at him with confusion, the traces of impatience in his voice. "W-where?"

"Bloody hell, Weasley!" he rolled his eyes heavenwards, exasperatedly. "I rammed into you, the least I can do is tend to your wounds. Now come on, before regain my common sense!"

Ginny was about to decline his preposition, when sudden wind rushed down her back and she realized how cold she was. She could go to the Burrow, but the questions she would be forced to answer would be too painful. Draco had no intentions of asking those questions, because he thought the wounds were from the fall. _Does he really think so? This is ridiculous! _She tightened her robes around herself and followed him, keeping her eyes on the asphalt and her mind free from roaming thoughts. Harry would never think of looking for her at Malfoy Manor.

* * *

When they arrived Ginny remained standing at the threshold of Malfoy Manor. Draco stormed in, barking at the greeting house elf to bring someone named Ora. The house elf scampered away immediately; bowing so low his ears brushed the floor.

After some impatient encouragement from Draco, Ginny followed him into the enormous living room and remained quiet as he showed her to the couch. He told her to wait, while he fixed himself a drink and sat onto one of the two comfortable armchairs before the fire. Ginny sat quietly, trying to see him past the wide backrest, but managing to glimpse only the burning silhouette of his fair hair. Her attempts were stopped by another house elf hurrying into the living room, carrying a bowl of cold fresh water and few cloths. Ginny smiled at her and Ora in return gave her a quick crooked twitch of her lips, before glancing at the backrest of Draco's seat, as if he could see through it backwards. She gently cleaned her face of dried blood, and when the liquid inside the bowl became a dirty shade of red she tugged at Ginny's sleeve and squeaked at her to follow.

After glancing one last time at the backrest, Ginny followed as Ora lead her into a small and comfortable bedchamber on the first floor, where a tub filled with hot water was awaiting her. Ora helped her out of the clothes and aided Ginny in the rinsing of her whole body, being extra careful with the violet bruises. When they were finished, Ora left the chamber, promising to return soon with clean clothes. Ginny didn't say a word when the little house elf left the room, and when the elf exited the chamber, found herself alone for the first time since she'd stopped running. She braced her knees and allowed tears to spill freely down her cheeks.

When Ora returned, she was bearing a clean white robe with Malfoy family emblem on its chest. She helped Ginny's out of the tub and toweled her off, after which Ginny realized her bruises had vanished. She touched her face and only now noticed that the cuts and sore spots were gone. She thanked the house elf as she was helped her into the robe and prodded to leave the chamber.

"Please let me stay here… I don't want to go out there," pleaded Ginny, but the stubborn elf gently declined her attempts.

Ginny huffed miserably and walked out. For a moment she considered fleeing the Manor at once, but realizing she had no clothes on bar the robe, she decided against it. Ginny headed back to the living room to find Draco was still in his armchair, holding a brandy glass. She walked over and sat slowly on the armchair beside him, half-waiting for him to snarl at her to stay away. But he did no such thing.

Ginny made herself more comfortable and glanced at him. His eyes were glazed with shroud of twinkling flames, he was engaged in a staring competition with the blaze in the fireplace. He twirled the liquor in his glass slowly, his eyes not leaving the flames, not even when yet another terrified house elf hurried into the room, carrying a mug of steaming hot tea, which was placed carefully on the small table between the two armchairs. Ginny watched silently as the elf bowed his way out of the room and then glanced at the tea. Hot white fumes were rising sluggishly from the dark amber liquid inside the cup, and the scent of sugar filled her nostrils. Deciding the tea was for Draco, she looked at him and then at the fire again.

"The tea is for you," he said suddenly, not tearing his eyes from the fire, as if in reply to her thoughts.

She looked at him for a while, expecting him to turn and return the stare, but he stayed in his enchanted state with the fire. Ginny reached out and laced her fingers around the mug. A cooling charm had been placed upon it, to keep it from getting hot from the tea. The corners of her lips curved up slightly as she remembered her mother putting exactly the same charm on the cups and mugs at the Burrow. _Burrow… oh my god! What am I going to tell my parents? How will I explain my sudden leave? Will they be worried about me? Of course they would, what am I talking about? Harry is probably there right now, looking for me. God, I hope he doesn't hurt anyone else. Oh Harry… what has happened to you? _

She was silent, allowing the thoughts, the questions and the disclaimers run through her mind. She brought her knees towards her, perching her feet upon the soft green cushions on the chair; both her hands were wrapped around the mug as she held it beneath her nostrils, inhaling the sweet fumes, absolutely forgetting about drinking it; her eyes caught up in flames, much like Draco's.

About a half an hour after his first visit, the house elf returned to the living room. He froze stone cold beside her, his eyes widen in unspeakable horror when he saw her holding the still full mug. He gulped audibly, squeaking to get her attention, "Is the tea not to your liking, Miss?"

Ginny stirred from her haze and gazed at the elf, dreamily. "What? Oh, umm…" She stumbled for words, realizing she hadn't even tasted it yet.

"She didn't drink it," came a sudden cold drawl from her left.

She glared at Draco, his eyes were still mesmerized by the fire but he smirked slightly. She suddenly heard a quiet fumbling and she turned to watch the elf place the other mug securely on the floor, walk over to the wall and starting banging his head over and over again upon the cold stone. Ginny yelped in surprise, set down her own mug and hurried to the elf's side.

"Oh, no, no, no… please don't do that!" She tried to stop him, by holding him back but he squirmed out of her grip easily. "No, wait. No, don't do that! Come on, no! Stop it!" She finally slapped her hand upon his forehead, forcing him back. She gripped his little figure firmly so he won't break free. Heaving a satisfied breath, she spoke to the self-mutilating house elf. "Now listen… the tea was a little too hot for me, _but_!" she added fiercely when the elf started wailing pitifully. "_But_… I like it that way..." this seemed to calm him down. "Now… will you please stop hurting yourself?"

The elf jerked his gaze to Draco, who waved at him dismissively, allowing him to hurry from the room.

Ginny returned to her chair and glared coldly at Draco. "That was uncalled for," she muttered angrily at his provoke of the elf's guilt. "Are all your house elves trained to beat themselves half to death if something is not to your liking?" she asked fiercely, picking up the mug again.

Draco smirked in reply, leisurely breaking his gaze from the fire and staring at her intensely. Ginny cringed under his gaze, but didn't let it show. She stared back at him. Now that she was clean and her body didn't ache anymore, she could face anyone. Even him.

"I sent Potter an owl, informing him of your well being and whereabouts. I told him he can come now, to pick you up," he said abruptly. His silver eyes twinkled with something she did not like.

The sound of shattering china pierced the living room as she lost her hold on the mug, spilling its contents to the polished floor. Her mouth became dry in an instant and her eyes widened in horror, as she comprehended his words. She tried to speak, but fear clawed its way out of the deepest recesses of her mind and took control over her body. She felt her stomach lurch and her heart sink to her feet. She remained silent, knowing that if she tried to speak, she'd fall apart.

Draco's smirk widened, but his eyes lacked glee or malice. "That's what I thought…" He quickly downed his drink and stood up. Averting his gaze to the fire he spoke again, before leaving the living room "You can stay in the chamber Ora showed you. If you need anything don't hesitate to call her."

Ginny stared in shock as he disappeared around the corner, leaving her absolutely dumbstruck. _He tricked me! _Her mind shrieked in fury. _He tricked ME! _She growled, agitated with herself that she had fallen for his bluff. She stomped into the small chamber, where the tub had already been taken away and a clean nightgown had been placed carefully on the pillows.

_He knows… _

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So what do you think? 


	2. The Burrow And The Apple Peel

**2 : The Burrow And The Apple Peel**

Ever since Ginny was a child, she was immensely afraid of darkness. But along the usual and the more understandable darkness one could discover in his bedroom with the absence of candles, also dwelled the kind that lurked in depths of the human soul, whispering viciously and tauntingly until you can't seem to open your eyes in fear of _seeing_ them as well. She hated the little, almost inaudible, voices from the corners of her room, scratching, hissing, sputtering threats and jeers the moment her mother would leave the room, dimming the lights.

When Ginny learned about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for the first time, she imagined to herself that he was like that darkness, those noises; and that the only difference was the fact that the noises faded when one turned on the lights, but You-Know-Who did not. When Ginny first learned about Harry Potter, she was instantly drawn to the marvelous idea of him, for he was the only one who was able to chase away the darkness. Harry the light that rendered the voices speechless.

To her vast misfortune, Ginny encountered the Dark Lord face to face when she was all too young and highly unprepared to be dealing with her greatest fears head on. As time trickles by and no light was able to chase away the residual darkness, she realized he wasn't like the muffled noises that scratched and whispered and taunted. No, he was the singular vibrant voice that hissed, screamed, cursed and tormented. And mid those jeers and cries, he was also the lingering whisper that sliced it's way through her mind, clawing at her sanity ruthlessly and casting her quivering soul into utter turmoil. A whisper that wafted such cold and malicious concern, she would find herself breathless and trembling violently hours after it had subsided.

"Ginevra…"

At the end of that horrible year, Ginny learned that, once again, it was Harry who ended her nightmare and rendered that voice speechless.

* * *

Eyes flinging open, Ginny sprung into a sitting position, clutching her chest in horror while her mind tried to soothe the desperate panting. Feeling uneasy, she swiped at her face with a shaky hand, wiping away beads of cold sweat. Her eyes sought the bedchamber for something familiar while slowly her mind replayed snatches of the previous events. She squeezed her eyes shut, then gulped for air one last time and exhaled already even breath.

_It was just a bad dream… everything is alright now… calm down…_ she coaxed herself, her eyes scanning the room. Inhaling deeply, she held her breath for a moment, her mind still raw from the recurring visions and the images still fresh.

_She would find herself back in the Chamber of Secrets again, watching with morbid fascination as the Final Battle repeated in front of her eyes. But everything was horribly different and altered and instead of glorious victory, Harry would undertake a disgraceful downfall, as the Dark Lord would win over and over again in her dreams. _

This time however, the dream was different. The Battle finally transpired as it did in reality about a decade ago, and Harry had finally won. Only this time it was as horrible and as mortifying as ever when Harry, basked in cheers and roars of triumph, threw his head back and released a petrifying high-pitch laughter. Then he turned to stare right at her and the green eyes she loved so much were narrowed into hateful slits the color of blood. Her blood.

"Ginevra…"

Ginny slowly climbed out of the bed, noticing her clothes had been washed and folded neatly on a chair near the bed. She grabbed them and headed to the bathroom, absently going through her usual morning routine, though finding it very unnerving to be doing so in the Malfoy Manor. She walked back to the bedchamber and was greeted by the sight of a small house elf making her bed. She cleared her throat softly, not wishing to seem rude by sneaking up on the small creature and stifled a frown of discontent when he was startled and hurried to bow deeply upon realizing the room wasn't empty.

"Forgive Mitzi, Miss. Mitzi thought Miss already went down for breakfast," squeaked the elf at the floor.

"No, no, that is not a problem… I was just leaving anyway. Could you thank your Master for--"

"Oh no, no, no! Master Draco requested Miss to be present at the table when Miss wakes up," the elf hurried to inform her with wide, fearful eyes.

_Oh… crap. _

Ginny breathed irritably, noticing her hands resumed their shaking once again and asked the house elf, as politely as her peaky nerves allowed her, to show her the dining room. The creature repeatedly apologized for not doing so earlier and even banged her head on the wall couple of times before Ginny was able to stop her. Following the elf hesitantly, Ginny was led through many meandering corridors of elegant and expensive décor. _No wonder he was such a stuck-up git back in school… _

Ginny walked into the dining room, noticing the elf disappear immediately out of sight and shifted her attention to the man sitting at the table. His posture was immaculate and he held himself perfectly, even in the premises of his own house, even when there was no one to judge him but house-elves, mirrors and the unexpected guest. His hair was neatly tied at the nape of his neck with what seems to be a black silky ribbon and his eyes were skipping along the lines of _Daily Prophet_'s first page with concentrated fervor. He made no indication that he noticed her presence and Ginny was just about to slink out of the chamber and escape the dismal castle of this evil wizard, when his voice cut through her reverie.

"Don't hover over me, I hate it," he drawled coldly and gestured at the chair to his right for her to sit down, his eyes not leaving the paper.

Keeping her eyes on him, she gingerly took the seat, absently inching it just a bit away from him. Suddenly she noticed that the plate before her wasn't empty anymore and instead there were some scramble eggs and a few pieces of bacon. A freshly baked biscuit was buttering itself in front of her before carefully finding a perch on the rim of her plate. The glass beside her made strange gurgling noises and soon enough it was filling up with pumpkin juice out of nowhere, as if someone pulled the plug from its bottom and she was watching a reversed draining process. She eyed the food, than Draco, waiting for some kind of comment.

"Eat," was all he sufficed before he took a sip from his small coffee cup without tearing his eyes from the newspaper, an unnoticed pinky pointing out and away.

Ginny glanced at the food again, her stomach quietly agreeing with Draco's suggestion. _No, _she told herself firmly. _I don't want any more favors from a Malfoy. I can't stay here… _

"I'm not hungry. "

Draco smirked at the paper, placing the cup down. "You are a terrible liar, Weasley," he said with a hint of amusement when he finally tore his gaze away from the Daily Prophet and looked over at her. "Eat. "

"Malfoy, I'm not in a mood for this. Could you please get on with what you wanted to say so I could leave as soon as possible?" she spoke briskly, her lips pressed in a thin line. Something told her she should at the very least _try_ to sound civil, but a single Malfoy Smirk was all it took to take her back to their school years.

"And where would you go?" countered a quiet drawl.

Ginny opened her mouth to reply, but found no words. She hadn't thought this far yet, all she knew was that her presence in Malfoy Manor wasn't natural and she had to leave. But as far as her destination was considered, she miserably realized there were no plausible options. Her own house was out of the question for it was obvious Harry was still there. Burrow was not a haven anymore, as he would know to search for her there as well. _Where to, then? _

"Exactly," he spoke, as if hearing her thoughts.

"Exactly what?" she snapped irritably, peeved by the smug undertones of his cold voice. "Where I'll go is none of your business, Malfoy. "

He narrowed his eyes as a sneer graced his previous neutral expression.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly, looking away. It was not his fault she was so frustrated, so confused. It was not his fault she was paralyzed with fear, and no matter how uncomfortable the idea seemed to her, she owed him. "It's just… I…" she sighed heavily when no words came and rubbed her face tiredly. Where would she go now? What would she do?

Draco didn't say anything for a while, the sneer quickly fading off his face as he folded the newspaper neatly and left it on the table. Steepling his fingers, he glanced forward for a moment before turning to face her in a business-like manner. "You can stay in the Manor, " he said evenly, his voice detached of any signs of genuine sympathy.

Ginny eyed him suspiciously, trying to see through his facade. "Why--?"

"Do not ever ask that question and my proposition will stay valid," he warned her through gritted teeth. "Think of it as an annual charity case," he smirked at her expression of growing confusion and slowly stood up, heading out of the room. "I would recommend visiting your family and explaining the situation. I'm sure they're worried…"

Ginny returned to her breakfast, more unsettled about her presence at the Malfoy Manor than when she first woke up. Chancing glances at the door, she sheepishly scolded herself for expecting a child-sized Malfoy with the same pointy face and mouth too wide, to jump out of nowhere and finally retaliate for the infamous Bat Bogey incident. But seeing him act this way was quite unnerving, if to say the least. His actions boarded on 'Nice…', though his tone and expression still hollered 'Prat!', and if to be completely honest, Ginny wasn't at all comfortable with Malfoy being any shape or form of… nice. Though she greatly appreciated his offer, she doubted if she should accept it, if for the sake of her sanity alone.

She could go to the Burrow, and after a quick explanation, to hope they won't prod any further. But she couldn't place her family in between herself and Harry. He was like another son for her Mother and very close to every other member of the clan. It would be unfair of her to do this to her family and she couldn't ask them to choose sides. Just the mere thought of 'sides' was enough to sent her stomach into a churning fit and any thought of breakfast to flee her mind.

On the other hand - if she to stay in the Malfoy Manor, no questions will be asked and none answered. Harry would most probably not even know where she was and it would give her enough time to figure things out. No one will be asked to choose sides because Malfoy won't be dragged into this since he couldn't care less. It was almost perfect.

_This is just for a while,_ she assured herself. Just enough for me to think… 

Ginny borrowed a broomstick from Malfoy's personal collection and headed to The Burrow, all the way contemplating what exactly would she say to her family. Now, as she was standing on the front porch of the house, tightening the robes around her shaking body and gripping the broom tightly in one hand, she realized that she had absolutely no idea. How could she say to her mother, who always loved Harry and treated him like one of her own children, that he raised his hand at her? That he had struck her not once, but repeatedly and that she ran away from their home because she was genuinely afraid for her life? How could she even speak these words if she stuttered mentally whenever she tried to compose the speech in her mind? She couldn't envision their reaction and she was completely petrified that they might not believe her.

Ginny inhaled a deep breath and raised her hand to knock on the door of the crooked-looking Burrow.

She considered the possibility of just running away again and leaving before the door opened. But her thoughts were cut short with a mellow creak of the door and the sight of Hermione's eyes staring at her with surprise and undeniable confusion of unasked questions. "Ginny," she breathed in relief, embracing the petite redhead in a hug as tight as the pregnant stomach allowed. "We were so worried!"

A wave of gratitude washed over Ginny and she hugged back just as tightly, wanting to hold on to the other witch and not let go. She wanted to crumble and cry right there on the threshold, to tell her closest friend how terribly, horribly, shamefully terrified she was and how she couldn't think about anything, that her mind was in total turmoil and utter jumble and that it was hopelessly difficult to structure sentences without developing a headache.

But she didn't, and instead of that she just held on even tighter.

Finally releasing her sister-in-law, Hermione stepped back into the house, tugging Ginny to follow her, but was greeted with resistance.

"Is… is Harry here?"

Hermione glanced at her strangely, shaking her head lightly as the extremely curly hair bounced about her face. "No. Ron convinced him to go to work…"

Ginny nodded, exhaling a breath, and stepped in, unclasping her cloak and leaving it on the hanger.

"Hermione dear, who is at the door?" carried the soft voice of Ginny's mother, Molly Weasley.

Inwardly cringing at the unusual flatness of her mother's voice, Ginny called out in reply, "It's me, Mum. "

At the sound of the familiar voice, Molly instantly abandoned her fussing in the kitchen and practically ran to the foyer. Seeing her daughter alive and well, she hurried to her side, embracing her tightly as a fresh wave of tears came rushing down, "Oh dear! Oh dear!" Reluctantly releasing her hold on the youngest of her brood, Molly's features shifted from great relief to anger and she swatted at Ginny's arm reproachfully. "Ginevra Molly Weasley, what on earth were you thinking?"

Through the heavy glazing tears, Ginny released a snort of laughter. Smiling her mother, Ginny thanked the higher beings for blessing her with a loving family.

"Okay, come on now… Everything is well now. Why don't we move to the living room?" offered Hermione, motioning them to move further.

"Oh yes, of course," exclaimed Molly, hurrying towards the kitchen. "I'll fix us some tea!"

Hermione led Ginny into the living room and sat down awkwardly, maneuvering her way upon the cushions, so as to not disturb her nine-months old stomach too much. She and Ron had moved back to the Burrow from their London apartment right after Ron got promoted at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The Healers discovered some complications with the pregnancy, and though they assured the riotous family that there was nothing critical to worry about, they still advised Hermione to avoid any stress and heavy lifting.

Sitting down beside her sister-in-law, Ginny suddenly doubted whether she should tell what she had to Hermione, since it was most definitely against the Healers' order. But she knew it was too late to think about this as Hermione began to speak in a hushed voice.

"Ginny, what happened? Why did you run away?"

"Harry was here yesterday?" Ginny asked silently, carefully steadying her voice not to crack.

"Yes. He appeared here last night, shouting and ranting, demanding to see you," Hermione began, her voice letting know that he actually scared her. "Ron tried to calm him down, but he was too riled up. After he searched the whole house and realized you weren't here, he broke down. Gin, he cried," her voice was aghast, as if she still didn't believe what had happened. "I don't think I ever saw him cry. What happened?"

Ginny opened her mouth to speak when Molly returned with three mugs of steaming tea and a plate of freshly made chocolate truffles. She took a seat on a chair across the couch, gazing at her daughter with an unreadable expression. Suddenly, she glanced away and Ginny deemed to see something flash through her eyes, but it disappeared almost instantly and she looked back at her daughter with concern etching in her face.

An odd sensation washed over Ginny and for a moment she thought that perhaps her mother knew. She shook the unfeasible notion out and handed the yellow mug to Hermione. Once again searching for words, she gazed at the steaming liquid in her own mug before her and sighed, tears threatening to brim her hazel eyes.

"Ginny dear, did you and Harry had a fight?" Molly suggested gently.

Ginny nodded slowly, wondering whether it was the right definition of what had occurred. "I… umm," she gulped hard. "I… I don't know where to begin…"

Hermione smiled at her reassuringly, holding onto her hand, and squeezes it lightly. "It's okay, Gin. Whatever it is…" she didn't finish that sentence when Ginny nodded.

Ginny closed her eyes, replaying everything in her head for the millionth time and fighting the tears. She opened her mouth and willed herself to speak, but no sounds escaped her lips. She tried harder, calling onto all of her will just to pronounce the words she did not believe yet herself. "He hit me," she whispered finally, burying her gaze into the linings of the ancient carpet. She felt a great burden rise from her heart, just now realizing that she'd been holding her breath since the previous evening, and now she was allowed to breathe again. She raised her eyes to counter the shock and traces of anger in her mother's eyes. "He hit me," she spoke again, this time confident in her strength to face whatever's coming, but not noticing the fresh wave of pained tears that rolled down her cheeks, framing her delicate features.

She spoke quietly, as if retelling everything only to herself, but she held herself close to Hermione, needing her support. Her voice was steady though weak, and it was visible she was struggling against the overwhelming emotions. She held her head high, gazing into her mother's and Hermione's eyes, seeing the sheer shock and disbelief on their faces. She told them everything from the beginning; from the first time he burst and trashed their house. She told them how he'd apologized and cried with her after he first struck her. She spoke of the wonderful period of peace and happiness they had when she went on vacation, all up until last night. Then she told them about the conversation with her boss and then finally another of Harry's outbursts. She hesitated for couple of moments after speaking of her escape, then slowly and cautiously explained about her encounter with Draco Malfoy and how he was kind enough to allow her to spend the night in his Manor. She didn't plunge into any details of their conversation and only said his house elves tended to her wounds and bruises. When she finished speaking, she heaved a heavy breath, once again feeling the weight leaving her. She needed so badly to speak to someone, to tell everything.

Silence veiled the living room and no sound was heard except for the crackling of the fire. Throughout her words, Molly and Hermione remained silent, paralyzed from shock, she guessed. The day drifted by quickly while Ginny spoke and suddenly she noticed that it was already dark outside. Dad and Ron should be home soon, she thought to herself. Ginny averted her gaze from the clock to the two witches, who still set quietly beside her. She could see they were both lost in their own thoughts, reflecting the impossibility of everything she just told them. She didn't want to force them to speak, neither was she sure she'd like it, but right now the silence was getting under her skin.

She opened her mouth to speak again, to ask them to speak in order to break the silence, but her words were interrupted by three distinctive popping sounds when three wizards Apparated onto the front porch of the Burrow, and three very familiar voices were carried into the house. Ginny suddenly tensed up, sensing the witches beside her reacting the same way, as the realization dawned on them. _Harry…_

She felt Hermione squeezing her hand tighter as the door creaked open and the wizards entered the house. There was a sound of robes being carefully discarded onto the rack and some absently laughter, and the three wizards entered the living room. Pausing at the threshold and taking in the present in the room, Arthur and Ron's faces brightened up, and they hurried to Ginny's side, bracing her quickly in bear hugs, thanking Gods she was all right.

Ginny smiled at them quietly, her eyes remaining fixated upon the silent figure at the door. Harry stood wordlessly, making no attempt of approaching her, looking grim and pained to no end. She saw his eyes revealing the shame and sorrow she saw already the first time he hit her. She stayed at the other side of the room, not saying a word, boring her eyes into him. Perhaps he took it as a good sign, because he took a step in her direction, immediately halting to a stop when Molly straightened up for the first time since the three wizards returned.

"I think it'll be better if you leave now, Harry dear," Molly said quietly, but her voice lacked its usual warmth.

"Mum?" Ron glanced at her with incredulity.

"Molly," intoned Arthur, shocked at the words.

Harry bit the inner part of his cheek to sustain his composure. He took a step aback, looking at her with torment in his eyes. "It's okay Ron, Mr. Weasley. I'll… I'll just go…" He turned around and headed to the door, but paused at the threshold and turned again, gazing at Ginny. "I love you, Ginevra… I'm sure we'll work this out. " With these words he disappeared out of the room and a quiet popping sound indicated that he had Disapparated out of the house.

After Harry left, Hermione and Molly relaxed, and while keeping their eyes on Ginny, told the two wizards everything in hushed voices. Arthur insisted that Ginny should stay, but she declined the forcing offers gently, smiling at him for reassurance.

"How bizarre and strange it might sound, but I think I'll feel better at the Malfoy Manor," Ginny promised, noticing her brother's visible disapproval. "Besides, I need some time away from him where he can't find me…"

"Oh Ginny, dear, I'm just so worried… I can't believe this is happening," Molly mumbled in a shaken voice, grasping onto Arthur's arm for support a bit too forcefully. "This is not right. Not right at all…"

"I don't care if he changed or if he's an Order member, I don't think you should stay in his house. Take the keys to our place, rent a room in the Leaky Cauldron, I'll pay for it, just don't…" Hermione stroking hands on his chest hushed Ron gently. He held them closer to his heart and then kissed them softly, smiling at her. He was on a brink of a breakdown. It was impossible for him to believe that his best friend for about two decades, The Boy Who Lived, the one who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Gryffindor's Quidditch team star Seeker, a Head Auror, was the same Harry that struck his little sister. It was unbelievable and unsettling and he couldn't quite comprehend the information.

After Ginny's final refusal to stay anywhere but the Malfoy Manor, Molly insisted that at least she should stay for dinner. Realizing then with horror, that she hadn't made any dinner, because of Ginny's visit, she ushered Ginny and Hermione into the kitchen, where they whipped up some sandwiches instead. The rest of the evening was spent in calm atmosphere in the living room, with Ron and Arthur speaking about their days at work and all wordlessly agreeing to ignore the uncomfortable stretches of silence and not to chance glances at Ginny at every given moment.

When Ginny left, Molly was crying. She gave her a box full of the chocolate truffles and forced her to promise that she would visit soon and owl if anything happens. Ginny smiled at her mother, and after bidding farewell to everybody and promising Ron again and again that she wouldn't let Malfoy torment her, she closed the door behind her. Taking a deep breath, she considered Apparating back to the Malfoy Manor instead of flying there, but figured an estate such as that would have magical barriers and wards for miles on end. She tightened the robes around herself, mounted her broom and kicked off, soon speeding in the direction of Malfoy Manor.

* * *

Ginny walked into the Manor, careful not to make any loud sounds for some unfathomable reason. _To not awaken the ghosts,_ she reasoned with herself, for it was inescapable to have ghosts in an estate such as this Manor, and no doubt the Malfoy ghosts weren't at all friendly like the ancient Gryffindor ghosts.

She discarded her cloak and the broom to the greeting house-elf and asked him to keep for her the chocolate truffles until the breakfast the next morning. The elf chanced an anxious glance at the living room, and Ginny guessed he was wondering if perhaps it could've somehow displease the Master of the house. Finally deciding that there was no harm done, the elf bowed in front of Ginny and promised to do as asked. Ginny beamed at him thankfully and he, quirking his oddly shaped mouth in a poor imitation of a smile, hurried out of the foyer.

Watching the house elf disappear behind an alcove, she glanced at the living room entrance. She should stay away from Malfoy for the rest of her stay, she really should. There was absolutely nothing to discuss with that man and she wasn't in the right state of mind to listen to his silly scorns regarding her family previous misfortunes. But he was the only person alive in the Manor and if only out of sheer manners she'd have to share _some_ time with him. Why delay the verdict any further?

Running her hands in front of her to smoothen the nonexistent creases on her brown skirt, Ginny headed toward the room she was led to the previous night in a fairly battered shape. Walking in quietly, her eyes instinctively darted to the overstuffed plush armchairs near the Victorian fireplace. Noticing the light silver mane illuminating the left backrest as the flames from the hearth danced on the impossibly beatific strings, she walked over there and wordlessly lowered herself into the chair beside him. A small round table of dark wood stood between them with an odd engraving on its top, and an empty brandy glass and a crafted jagged knife on it. Slowly inhaling, she looked over at the silent wizard, only to notice his eyes once again embedded on the coiling flames.

"I was at the Burrow the whole day," she informed him, immediately wondering why.

A small smirk graced his lips, barely visible in the dimly lit orange haze. "Good for you, Weasley," came the even reply and for a moment the smirk resembled a genuine smile.

Ginny frowned. Why was she here, again?

"How is that red-faced brother of yours? Still a copy boy at the Aurors' Headquarters?"

"No, he is not," she smothered a scowl, though her voice reflected it perfectly. "He's doing great at work and, in fact, was promoted to a Head of his own division in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. " _Take that, you git! _

He barked out in laughter. "Well, what do you know, Peterson was right when he said they're hiring monkeys in the Ministry nowadays, ha!"

Ginny rolled her eyes, decided not to react. The fact that Malfoy had grown into his features and somehow attained a body of a full-grown man apparently did not necessarily mean that he was not the unpleasant child she knew so many years ago. It amazed her actually how he hasn't changed for the most part in these ten years. The last time she saw him, he was a bruised and tattered shadow of his snobby self, lying on an uncomfortable cot in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, a few days after the Final Battle. She remembered feeling an odd pang of guilt when she was finally able to leave after her own injuries healed and she looked at him, still looking as horrible as he did when Neville and Seamus dragged him out of the Chamber. She could also remember him fighting alongside Ron and Harry against the countless Death Eaters, against his own father, against his own beliefs. She remembered being confused by him and sometimes wondering what was it that made him stand against everything he was raised on. She remembered hoping that he would heal soon and despite his spiteful words, she remembered hoping he wasn't in too much pain.

Frowning, she wondered why she remembered it anyway.

An elf scampered into the living room, carrying a woven basket overflowing with fruits on top of his slightly flat head. He offered the basket to Draco and waited while the Master did his pick. Draco chose a big green apple, absently offering a red one to Ginny and dismissing the elf after she declined. He picked up the small jagged knife from the table between them and started peeling the fruit silently, guiding it expertly into a single green spiral.

"So did he finally get that know-it-all he'd been pining about? That mu--uggle-born, Granger, was it?"

Ginny watched Draco quietly as his slender fingers orbed around the large apple and carved it craftily with his knife. She watched as the apple peel descended slowly and couldn't help but to remember the almost forgotten evenings of her childhood, when her father carved an apple with the same excellence, always giving her the peel and telling her stories for hours in front of the blazing hearth.

She couldn't suppress a smile and a chuckle escaped her at the memory. "Yes, actually. But both of them were so horrible about admitting their feelings, it took fatal injury to finally force them together…"

"Lovely," he murmured absently, obviously not paying an ounce of attention to her words.

She rolled her eyes again. "Why ask if you're in the least interested?"

"Because you have the tendency to screw your face unattractively when you think and I wanted to spare myself the sight," she replied even, carefully drawing the apple peel to its end. "Don't stress your brain too much, Weasley, you'll damage yourself. "

Finishing peeling the apple, he tossed the knife and the apple peel carelessly onto the table, returning to his newspaper that was forgotten a while ago and sinking his teeth deep into the flesh of the apple.

"I see you've been following your own advice for the better part of your life," Ginny shot back, eyeing the apple peel warily, contemplating whether she should give in to the primal instinct and take it.

"Yes, of course, Weasley. That is why I live in a mansion, run a disgustingly successful corporation and have more money than a Goblin would care to count. Because I am inexcusably daft," Draco rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and snorted, not even sparing her a glance.

"You can't possibly be thinking that you've achieved everything there is if you have loads of Galleons, Malfoy. Not even you are that… hopeless. "

"Don't give me the 'Money can't buy happiness' bit, Weasley. That sentence was first spoken by someone who obviously didn't have the right amount of it," Draco spoke softly into his newspaper, biting into the sour-sweet apple flesh with a loud crunch when he finished.

_Why do I even try to reason with him? He's a Malfoy!_ Ginny sighed deeply, finally losing the battle against her logic and reaching out to pick the peel up. She glance at it for a moment, feeling the smooth green texture of its one side and the grainy texture of the other side, before silently beginning to munch on it while slipping her gaze onto the fire.

Draco cocked a surprised eyebrow, obviously watching the occurrence from his peripheral vision and turned to look at Ginny, the smooth pale forehead slightly distorted as he frowned. Ginny, however, seemed to be oblivious to this attention and lost somewhere in the depths of her mind, which required him to cough subtly into his fist in order to bring her back. "I offered you an apple, why didn't you take it if you wanted?"

She blinked slowly against the flames and turned to look back at him. "Because I didn't want one," she replied simply, grinding the peel with her teeth.

"But you are eating a peel," Draco stated, wondering if it was possible for her not to notice that bit.

"I like apple peels," she quipped, allowing herself a small smile at Draco's obvious confusion.

Draco frowned again at her, but dismissed it with a shrug and resettled back into his armchair, flipping the newspaper open again. He sat silently for a few moments, his eyes fixated on the same word as he tried to recollect the oddly scattered thoughts. Chancing a glance at the still visible green apple peel in between Ginny's lips, he snapped his head back at her, staring with narrowed eyes.

"But it's a _peel_," he insisted.

"It's a very tasty peel," replied Ginny. "You should try it someday…"

Draco straightened in his armchair, shifting his weight to the other armrest. "I don't think so. Though I can understand how you, as a Weasley, might enjoy the leftovers," he sneered, returning to the paper.

Ginny snapped out of her memory haze and scowled at him. "What is wrong with you?"

Draco arched a brow, his exterior chilling in an instant and his grey eyes losing the warmth from the fire. "Is that a rhetorical question?" _That_ was a rhetorical question.

"No," Ginny replied nonetheless. "I really want to know. "

"There is nothing wrong with me, Weasley. Just because I do not enjoy feasting out of a garbage bins--"

"You are insufferable!" she almost shrieked through the rising annoyance. "Money does not determine anything about a person as a person and you have no right to judge others without having a decent clue about them!"

"Everything I need to know about a person I can deduct from the way they carry themselves. Don't take it personally, Weasley, but I am usually very selective when it comes to whom I prefer to spend my time with. "

"I see… that is why you are twenty-seven years old, haven't been married and currently live alone in your ancestral Manor?"

Draco's face immediately undertook the most disgusted sneer he could muster. He glared at the youngest Weasley, clenching his jaws rigidly and fisting his hands against the newspaper edges, controlling the indignant urge to hex her into oblivion. "My personal life in none of your business," he hissed finally, his voice managing to sound even yet all the more unnerving. .

"So is mine," she bit back furiously despite the desperate knot unfurling at the bottom of her stomach. "So stop commenting about my family's former financial difficulties!"

He paused for a moment, jutting his jaw to a side with a quirk. Glancing at her, he blinked lazily against her rage, showing her that he was not in th least affected, and when he spoke finally his voice was as frigid and as biting as they came. "This is _my_ house and I shall speak of whatever I please. And as long as you are _my_ guest, you will tolerate this. "

Ginny expression changed to one of shock as she backed away slightly, glaring back at him. "No," she assured him through gritted teeth, her eyes spitting fire. "I won't," she said finally and stood up, storming out of the living room and heading to her small bedchamber on the first floor in order to lock herself in and curse Draco Malfoy to hell and back on the spikiest, most malfunctioning broom there ever was.


	3. Weasly Do

**Disclaimer:** Okay, I always forget about these things. Listen up, this is NOT MINE! I'm just using the characters for my own twisted pleasure. Dance, puppets, _dance!_

**Author's Notes:** Thanks and hugs go to the wonderful **Skye** for her betaing :)

* * *

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**3 : Weasley-Do**

Darkness spread around her, the cold coiling tendrils seeping deeper and deeper into her mind, coursing inside of her and fusing all her doubts and fears. She stood still, wordlessly watching the man she loved battling one of the greatest evil, and losing. He fought fiercely, attacking and defending himself in flawless calculated motions. He moved swiftly, not heeding to the open wounds and gushing blood, his eyes set in unyielding determination. His dark, soiled and bloodied figure contrasted dramatically against the pallid gauntness of the Dark Lord, as they moved across the Chamber with fierce cries and desperate attempts to end their feud once and for all. But Harry was growing weary while the Dark Lord somehow retained his vigor through the struggle and was steadily growing stronger against failed strike of his opponent.

Ginny's stomach lurched painfully as she watched her Hero finally crumbling down onto his battered knees, his wounds overflowing with crimson blood and his eyes reflect nothing but pure hatred and desperation. A frightened cry hitched in her throat as she watched the Dark Lord raise his wand, a gleeful grin upon his hideous reptilian features and his lips drawn back in preparation of uttering the words that will finally put an end to his agony. Suddenly the scarlet slits of his eyes pierced her, catching her off guard and casting her breath away, as the hissing voice ripped through her body, too close for comfort and too familiar for sanity.

_"Ginevra!_" the voice recoiled from within her, slithering its way through her body like a poisonous snake. _"You won't leave me… won't leave… I will not let you… never let you… mine… mine… MINE!"_

Hot tears were streaming down her cheeks even before she could comprehend the fact that she had collapsed as well, that her knees were barely supporting her tired weight against the cobblestones and that there was someone beside her. But before she could bring herself to care, her reeling mind was pierced through yet again by the destroying roar reverberating through the vast structure and shakings its very foundations.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

"_NO_!" she screeched out desperately, instinctively launching herself to shield Harry with her own petite figure. If she could just reach him in time, just a split of a second would suffice to save his life, and he would be able to continue fighting, and eventually win just like it was suppose to be. Just like it had already happened! This was all horribly wrong and it wasn't suppose to be this way, but if she could reach him in time, if she could save him, then things would return to normal. She herself didn't matter, obviously. She was such a small pawn in this horrid game they've been participating for the past years, that she was most likely to be forgotten in the history books later on, and it honestly didn't matter. She just had to save Harry. Harry _had_ to live.

To her utter horror, the moment she shifted forward, a vice grip tightened around her waist, yanking her back with an invisible strength no one could posses. Eyes widening in disbelief, she clawed at the arms around her, writing and kicking and crying out in agony when the killing curse hit its target perfectly and the infamous Hero slumped lifelessly onto the cold stones.

Her heart sank with a sickening shattering and for a tiny moment she allowed herself to think that Harry was just resting. That he was so so tired that he just had to rest and now he will stand up again and fight and fight and win and she will get her promised Happily Ever After. But the body remained motionless and no Hero has risen from the ashes that day.

Her lips parted a little and she was plunged into oblivion, for a moment knowing nothing but the fact that her life has ended, simply because he had ended. Fighting the meaningless fatigue, she finally found herself free to move and quickly hurried to his side, pulling his head onto her lap. She rocked back and forth, nursing his wounded forehead with her searing, still believing kisses, until his blood was mixed with her bitter tears and she no longer cared. She wept over the lifeless body, vaguely hearing the shrill laughter echoing inside the accursed chamber, indicating to her that it was, indeed, the end.

* * *

A pair of honey-coated brown eyes fluttered open lazily, wincing against the white morning light that penetrated through the opened curtains and the heavy canopy that was pulled back. Stretching groggily, Ginny yawned and swung her legs over the edge of her four-poster, absently looking around the luxurious setting of her Malfoy Manor bedchamber. Her cheeks felt oddly stiff while she worked out her jaw in a morning tick acquired long ago, and she swiped her hand over them only to discover salty tracks of dried tears. Groaning tiredly, she realized she had been crying in her sleep again.

Pushing herself off the overly comfortably bed, she padded to the bathroom, thoroughly washing her face there and rinsing out the clinging cobwebs. Finally straightening up, Ginny glanced at the mirror just above the basin and stared back at the barely recognizable eyes. Her face was splotchy with dark shadows dwelling just under her eyes, which were red and irritated from the constant tears. New pair of wrinkles trailed around the sides of her mouth, drawing her neutral expression into a frown. Sighing dejectedly at the sight of new creases along her forehead, Ginny stuck her head under the faucet, turning the cold water fully on.

It has been a week since she first decided to stay in Malfoy Manor, and each passing day cost her a fair amount of her assurance and sanity. She hadn't spoken to Malfoy since the evening in the living room when he spitefully enough proclaimed that, apparently, she had no choice but to accept and tolerate his smug and tasteless remarks about her family while she was in his house. Well, if that's how he really felt, then he had another thing coming!

She decided to avoid him at any cost, even if it meant spending her days in her bedroom, arriving to breakfasts late, after he had already left for work and occupying herself with scarce books she had found in her room. She didn't think he would actually seek out her company when she was so obviously shunning away from him, just to insult her family. Unless he was indeed _that_ childish.

And although her plan was successful in keeping away from Malfoy's uncalled remarks, Ginny had encountered somewhat of a problem soon after the beginning of her self-imposed exile. The books found in her bedchamber were indeed scarce and after finishing all of them during the first three days of her stay, Ginny found herself rereading the texts to the point of memorization of whole paragraphs. Very soon the desire to hurl the tomes into the living room fire and watch them as they were reduced to meaningless cinder became almost unbearable.

So she tried exploring the vast mansion presented to her in all its empty glory most hours of the day while Malfoy was too busy with his disgustingly successful corporation somewhere in the Diagon Alley. But every time she did try to wander off a bit further down the corridors, to mount an unknown flight of steps, or to proceed into some distant wing of the massive mansion, her attempts were cut short by the house elves, who quickly ushered her back into her bedroom, squeaking something about Master's orders. Malfoy was apparently against the idea of her roaming his house, _snooping around_ as the elves so charmingly put it when she finally confronted them, and had directed to confine the guest to her bedchamber, dining room and the living room.

Ginny scowled at her reflection in the silver-brimmed mirror as the memory replayed in her mind. She was not snooping around! She was bored senseless and if he didn't want a raving Weasley on his hands he should've just let her roam around! Unless, he was hiding something he didn't want her to find, in which case he should really let her roam around! Preferably with specified directions, passwords and all available information regarding the possible booby traps.

The nerve of that idiot! He couldn't annoy her to her face, so he sent house elves to do the job for him! She could just hex him for being such an insufferable git!

But it wasn't his only obvious attempt to irk her into insanity. Each and every evening around 7, Ginny shaken out of whatever she was doing at the moment by shrill drunken giggles emanating the foyer. _Oh, please!_ She couldn't help but to roll her eyes at his juvenile tactics. She put him on the spot with stating him visible aloneness, so he - in all of his Malfoy-ishness - saw it necessary to subdue the Manor to an infantile parade of all his conquests. Which, by their intonations and bits of conversation that carried over to Ginny's room, most probably shared a collective brain amongst themselves.

On top of that, she could've sworn he put a _Sonorus_ charm on all his lady-friends just to spite her, because no human being could ever manage to shriek so ostentatiously that the blasted cries of supposed pleasure carried all the way from the furthest Wing to Ginny's bedchamber. Honestly, she really couldn't care less whom he did or didn't. He could hump trees as far as she was concerned, as long as those were quiet trees that didn't wake her up every blasted night!

She shook her head exasperatedly, plunging her face under the constant stream of warm water in the lavishly decorated shower, washing her nude body from all the sweat and tears that lately accompanied her dreams. She was beginning to become unsettled from all the troubling dreaming as well, mostly the exaggerated affects it was having on her body. She didn't have to search for any reasons of those fearful dreams, though, since Ginny knew very well that surpassed worries could easily inflict these horror visions onto her mind whenever she was unable to avoid them in her sleep.

And try to avoid them she did!

For the past week, all the while she was suppose to contemplate and muse over everything that happened and finally decide what she was going to do next, she had spend reading, dreaming of painful destruction of said reading material and sparring with a metaphorical Draco Malfoy through his house elves and the screams of his nightly entertainment. She had been avoiding the pressing issue with feverish vigor usually directed solely at Quidditch matches, and as of yet hasn't allowed the thought of Harry to cross her mind in whatever concept.

She knew this couldn't continue much longer, though. She just couldn't pretend that nothing had happened with Harry, or in fact pretend nothing had ever happened to her and that it was perfectly acceptable for a Weasley to be living in the Malfoy Manor for the rest of her life. She knew she had to get a grip over herself and start doing some heavy thinking, finally figure everything out for herself so she could continue living her life and actually leave this bloody estate.

But it was easier coaxed than done. Ginny just couldn't bring herself to relive the memories, replay the scene, the emotions - and most of all - the fear. Ever since she remembered herself the thought that day may come when she would be _afraid_ of Harry, the man she loved for so long, never even crossed her mind. How could it? Harry was the Boy Who Lived, the one who fought evil and defeated it on numerous occasions, the person you would trust your life with. He was definitely _not_ the one you'd imagine raising his hand on an innocent, a woman, and most of all - his own wife!

The thought was so absurd and preposterous that Ginny was very close to dismissing everything as yet another nightmare and gladly return to her home, her life and her husband. But each time she opened her eyes to find herself in the same small bedchamber in the infamous Malfoy Manor, she knew she was there for a reason, and that reason was _that_ night.

She closed her eyes, inhaling a slow breath. She hadn't cried since that night while she was still awake and didn't know why. For sure the situation she found herself in was enough to drive even a Malfoy to tears. She was utterly lost, disoriented and as far as she could see, completely hopeless. Her world crumbled and she did not posses the power to recollect the pieces on her own. Yet still, no matter how hard she willed herself to, she could not cry, leaving all the emotions cooped up inside of her, smothering her with the heavy cloak of uncertainty.

She sighed silently again, climbing out of the shower and wrapping the soft towel around herself. She stepped out of the bathroom, walking over to the burgundy chair near her bed, and eyed desperately the garments that were washed and folded neatly by the house elves every day. She hadn't returned to her house since the night she ran away, admitting to herself that it was fear that prevented her from making her way back, even when she was in need of basic necessities such as clothes and her wand. So she possessed only these cream colored turtleneck, the flimsy brown skirt and one plain black cloak. She was getting sick and tired of these clothes, and the lack of her beloved wand left some sort of void inside of her. Still, she couldn't yet return to that house. Not just yet.

Huffing exasperatedly, she rolled her eyes and caught a glimpse of the dark green purse perched on top of her nightstand. She picked it up, quickly undoing the silver lace holding it closed and her eyebrows shot up in surprise at the sight of over a hundred galleons. Picking up the piece of parchment that was placed beneath it, she scanned the neat and elegant handwriting, correctly guessing its owner. 

Weasley,

Swallow your pride and go buy yourself some new clothes. I know Weasleys don't spend this much money  
on robes and such (probably because you don't have this much money to spend it on anything), but it seems  
Christmas came earlier this year for you. You can shower me with gratitude later.

Malfoy.

Ginny scowled at the parchment, fisting it into a tiny paper ball and throwing it into the nearest bin. _That slimy git…_ she snarled to herself, tossing the purse onto her bed. _I cannot believe this! I avoid him at all cost, so he won't be able to hurl stupid remarks at my face, and he has the audacity to do that in a friggin' letter? Well, you've really done it this time, Malfoy… _

She quickly dressed and grabbed the purse, walking out of the room. Marching to the dining hall, her mind seethed with anger that simmered through the thick fog of confusion, deeming to be the only salient emotion in her right now.

"Master Draco had already left," she was informed by the house elves. _Great! Just when I do want to see the prat to slap him, he's not home… typical! _

She slumped down onto her usual seat and frowned at the bowl of porridge in front of her. Small dark-brown raisins and bits of various fruits peeked through the gooey texture and the sight of the traditional Weasley breakfast seemed to soothe her reeling mind. She tossed the purse onto the table, picking up the spoon and plunging it into the porridge with a squelching sound. She took a deep breath, stirring the bowl expertly, fighting off the ancient instinct of emanating noises of Muggle machinery that always seemed to brighten up the sulkiest of moods and the gloomiest of mornings.

She instead settled for making those noises in her head. _Vrooooooom! Choochoochooh, choo! Whee! _

She wasn't sure how exactly, but for the past week she noticed that her meals were consistent of all her favorite courses, prepared with suspicious skill of one Molly Weasley. She was quite sure that her mother hasn't been sneaking in and out of the Malfoy estate just to make Ginny her favorite meals, so she had to hand the house-elves the deserved credit. She didn't know how they knew, but they did and she was thankful for this tiny piece of normalness in her newly awkward existence.

By the time Ginny finished her breakfast she was so homesick she decided to visit her favorite twin brothers. She asked a house elf to retrieve her cloak and made her way to the living room's fireplace, leaving the purse on the dining table. Few moments later the house elf scurried into the living room, carrying her cloak and the silver tin filled with the cyan Floo powder. She thanked him with a smile, taking the cloak and a handful of the powder, tossing it into the fire and draping the cloak over her shoulders.

Only after she stepped into the green leaping flames and shouted "_Diagon Alley!_" did she notice the extra weight of the emerald purse in her cloak pocket.

* * *

Ginny stepped into the cold autumn morning in the middle of Diagon Alley, deeply inhaling the crispy cold air. A broad smile crept across her lips and she all but forgotten her momentary irritation at the house elf who slipped her the purse without her noticing. She gazed around herself, comprehending that she has been surrounded be people, actually real people, with no relations to the Malfoy family, for the first time in an entire week! People all around her, rushing to and fro, oblivious to her attention, surrounded her and now she realized just how much she missed everything - the noises, the shouting, the brisk politeness and the utter commotion.

As she made her way towards her brothers' prank shop, _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_, Ginny hoped they would use their usual tactic of dealing with important and uncomfortable issues - simply and reverently ignoring it. She would much rather them to fill her in on their new stock or late Weasley gossip instead.

Stepping into the colourful shop filled with everything from Firecrackers to Exploding Toilet Seats that was run by the infamous Weasley twins pranksters to the core, she yelped in surprise as the bells above the door roared with the sound of thunder rolls. In her distraught she didn't notice Fred stealthily sneaking up behind her, skillfully hoisting her over his shoulder. Cackling madly while his petite baggage dissolved in peals of giggles, he carried her to the counter, calling out to his brother.

"Oi! Looks like I got myself another one of those-- how'd you call 'em?"

"Oysters?" offered George helpfully, grinning at the familiar derriere of his only sister.

"Nah, mate! The small ones with the voices!"

"Blast-Ended Skrewts?"

"They have voices?" came the giggling inquiry from the bundle of laughter and red hair under discussion.

"Hush, oyster!"

"_Not_ oysters! Not skrewts… You know, the muggle ones! With the lolly poppers!"

"Munchkins!" George exclaimed finally.

"_Yes_! Them buggers! I got myself another one of those Munchkins!" proclaimed Fred, patting Ginny's shin, which prompted wriggling of attacked legs and demands of repositioning.

"And what will you do with this Munchkin, brother dear?" asked George, ignoring the propelling feet.

"I was thinking she would make an exceptional soup, don't you agree?"

"Nah, I'm afraid she's too bony for a decent soup…"

"Hey!" cried out Ginny with a frown, stopping her writhing. "I resent that! I would make an outstanding soup…"

Laughing out loud, Fred finally released Ginny from her uncomfortable perch, positioning her firmly on the ground. "You're right, Gin. You would make an outstanding soup…"

"And quite a delectable main course," George added supportively, walking over the counter and embracing her in a bear hug, which Fred soon joined.

Ginny held onto her brothers tightly, feeling at peace for at least this short while. After couple of moments, noticing no attempt to move away from the hug, Ginny began to feel the two bulky bodies working together in an ancient torturing technique. "Umm, guys," she tried to reason first. "You're crashing my wind pipes. "

Another few moments passed and quiet companionable sniggering could be heard overhead. Ginny sighed, reminiscing this tendency of theirs to try and crash her tiny body between themselves in their twisted idea of humor. Rolling her eyes, she wondered why they never remembered her counter-attack. She shifted her weight quickly before they could remember and stomped painfully, first on Fred's foot then George's, then quickly leaped up, hitting both their jaws with the top of her head, resonating a loud unpleasant clunking sound.

Yelping in pain and defeat, they staggered away from her, rubbing their jaws and shifting from their stomped feet. "Why, on bloody earth, do we always forget this?" fumed George, pushing his jaw with a crick into the right position.

"Maybe because I don't hit strong enough," mused Ginny cheekily.

"No, no!" assured her Fred. "You hit with just the right amount of strength…"

Ginny chuckled and hopped onto the counter, finding a perch between the register and a line of flamboyant jars containing various candy, which can be only described as evil. "So, brothers… what's new in the business?"

The Weasley twins exchanged wide secretive grins and Fred hurried off into the back room.

"Sister dear, we are standing on the brink of an entirely new era of pranksterness!" George announced in a loud significant tone.

"Is that even a word?"

"Hush, oyster!"

"Okay…"

"Era," he carried on as if there was no interruption. "That shall provide an outlet for the sickest and the most twisted senses of humor that ever graced the face of the earth!" he erupted in a wave of sinister laughter, halting abruptly only when Fred reentered the room, carrying a multihued box, and gave him a funny look. "That is…"

"You need to lay off the Muggle movies, George my man," Fred patted him on the shoulder, placing the box on the counter. "Or I'll complain to Holly and she'll cut your Viaress rights…"

"It is called VCR and you wouldn't dare!" George stared at him outrageously.

"This morning you were talking about putting Muggle elcetrial holes around the shop cause you like the look of them," Fred reminded his brother with a rare air of seriousness about him. "Oh, I'll dare alright. "

Ginny laughed at her brothers' bickering, realizing just how much she it. George had married a muggle-born witch a couple years younger than him, Holly Blackwood, and almost immediately developed his father's obsession for Muggle objects. His recent obsession was a black box he kept raving about, but not quite succeeding in explaining the wonders of it to his brother.

Ginny glanced at George sympathetically, averting her attention to the other twin when he tugged her sleeve. "See this one," Fred proudly offered her a red cellophane pouch filled with red chocolate beans out of the box.

Taking the pouch, Ginny eyed the label and smiled at the winking faces of her brothers hovering around the jagged font that proclaimed the name of this product - _Weasley-Do_.

"What is it?"

v "We believe demonstration is always more persuasive than mere explanations," Fred grinned, prodding her to try it out.

"Do I look seven? I'm not eating this," Ginny declared, placing the pouching onto the counter and pushing it away from her.

"Oh, come on, Gin. Be a sport!" George smiled at her most innocently, pushing the pouch closer to her. "Word of a prankster, it is reversible…"

Ginny squinted at her brother, knowing well enough that she'll regret this in a minute or so. Still, she picked out a rather large bean and popped it into her mouth, expecting smoke to come out of her nostrils, to cough out phoenix feathers or something much worst. But nothing so drastic happened while the chocolate melted away and some odd zinging sensation slithered along her jaw line and up to the top of her head. She narrowed her eyes at her brothers, who burst into uncontrollable feats of giddy chortling. Ginny nudged Fred in the ribs, frowning at him.

"Frederick Ormond Weasley, you better tell me right now what you did to me…"

The twins continued laughing, their voices growing hysterical amidst random glances thrown at her. After another painful nudge, this time directed at George, he recovered long enough to retrieve a hand mirror and offer it to her shakily, one hand clutching at the counter for support. Ginny frowned at her brothers once again and, mentally preparing herself for the worst, glanced into the mirror.

Her eyes widened in horror while her eyes trailed her startled reflection, smothering a whimpering sound of despair at the bottom of throat. Her regal mop of red hair, distinctive sign of a Weasley - which was always a bit brighter than the others, but dulled over the years - was now burning a lovely shade of neon-red.

She blinked at her reflection and then at her brothers. Seeing them roaring with new waves of laughter caused by her reaction, she slammed the mirror down and reached out towards both of them in a well-practiced imitation of their mother. Grabbing both by their ears, she jerked them closer to her from the opposite sides of the counter.

"_Change it back_…" she hissed at the two yelping idiots.

The twins guffawed harder, paying no attention to the shooting pain in their ears. "Sorry…" snorted out Fred. "But… but… we… haven't… got… antidote… yet!" at this they both burst in laughter once again, this time Fred losing his balance and plopping down onto the floor.

Ginny's eyes shot daggers at her brothers as she released their ears, burying her hand into Fred's long hair and yanking it up painfully, bringing him onto his knees. "Change it _BACK_!" she roared into his face, feeling another flash of anger simmering inside of her.

"Don't worry, Gin," George interrupted, trying to reassure his murderous sister. "It will wear off by itself…"

"Yeah," agreed Fred. "In a day or two!" his laughter thundered again and this time he collapsed onto the floor completely, rolling around and clutching his stomach.

Ginny snarled, kicking him as painfully and as sisterly as she allowed herself and heaved a deep sigh. _You should've known…_ she shook her head and turned to the other boxes, checking out her brothers' new pranks, while they kept laughing maniacally.

She occupied herself for about fifteen minutes until the twins' laughter turned into constant hiccups and they finally calmed down, able to control themselves from bursting again whenever they glanced at her. She stayed at the shop for couple of hours, sitting and talking to her brothers as peacefully as it was possible. The twins didn't try anything else on her and if needed an example, used the tricks on themselves, feeling Ginny wouldn't hesitate to maim them the next time.

They hadn't talked about Ginny and Harry, and she was grateful for that. The only reminder of the whole situation was when Fred offered her to have a dinner at his house, saying that Angelina was worried about her stay at the Malfoy Manor and just missed her. Ginny accepted the proposition with a smile, but wasn't sure when she would be available.

She smacked herself mentally, reminding her that she had nothing but spare time, but she wasn't sure that a dinner with Angelina was the ideal proposition in her current emotionally fragile state. She liked the sister-in-law very much, adored their children and appreciated the changes she did in her brother to tame him a little; but she also knew that a worried Angelina is a zealous Angelina is an obsessed Angelina is a very annoying Angelina. Not to mention frightening.

Changing the subject, Ginny told them about the owl she received a few days ago from her editor, in which he stated that she was fired. To their loud interjections and wholehearted suggestion to beat the snot out of her boss, she assured them that she was not about to go down without a fight. She was one of the best journalists that the newspaper had and had single-handedly managed to raise the selling percentage by twelve percent since she first started working there, and finally if reviewing the situation regarding her forced resignation from the law's point of view, he had absolutely no right to fire her. Finally, pumped up by her brothers howls of encouragement, Ginny left the prank shop with rejuvenated spirits and headed towards the _Daily Prophet_ office down the street with all the intentions of getting her job back.


	4. Armaund Cafe

**Disclaimer:** Okay, I always forget about these things. Listen up, this is NOT MINE! I'm just using the characters for my own twisted pleasure. Dance, puppets, _dance!_

**Author's Notes:** All the thanks go to **Skye** for her betaing assistance. Thanks, bebah!

* * *

**4 : Armaund Café**

A timid knock echoed in Tomas Brooks' office a moment before Ginny opened the door and stepped in. She searched the office for Brooks' penetrating green gaze that she expected to be drilling into her mind, but found him hunched over some papers on his desk, not noticing, or most probably, ignoring her. Penny, the secretary, just announced Ginny's arrival mere minutes ago right in front of her. Why on earth was he playing as if he didn't know she was standing right there?

She remained silent, waiting for him to raise his eyes up at her or at least give some indication that he was aware of her presence. But he kept his posture studiously unflinching, though Ginny caught a sight of his glare darting at her from under the black lashes. Sick of being silent and realizing this daft game might take all day, she cleared her throat loudly and watched him finally avert his eyes from the - _blank_, she noticed - papers.

Tomas Brooks, former Slytherin and now the ___Daily Prophet_'s editor, allowed himself to remain silent for a long time, while his eyes slid up and down Ginny's dainty frame. His black hair was slickly combed back, his clothes as tidy and well suited as always and his fair features, sculpted so expertly to resemble an ancient Greek beauty, were twisted into that familiar Slytherin sneer, though it did not deprive from - and perhaps even added to - his sheer attractiveness.

Ginny knew him since she first came into the ___Daily Prophet_'s editorial, her mind still fresh and keen from the cross-Europe trip and heart blooming with countless possibilities of changing the world. He had never paid her much attention when she was hired as a junior copywriter and mostly regarded her with cold politeness a true British gentleman regards a stranger. It was only when she got utterly sick of being bossed around by idiots who didn't have an ounce of writing ability or style in their blood, that she slipped one of her own articles about the speculated machinations in the 'Department of Magical Games and Sports' into Brooks' editing stack and got his individual attention.

He was, of course, the typical Slytherin, never admitting to her that he was intrigued or pleased while offering her a junior reporter position. But he personally edited her articles and after only a short while as a trainee, was giving her bigger assignments than most novices got. As the time passed and she became a permanent member of the journalistic staff, she even noticed he seemed to be personally offended on the rare occasions when she did not live up to her usual standards.

This was why she knew persuading him into rehiring her would be so easy. Over the past six years he had become something she dared calling an acquaintance and she was sure that her departure had affected the editorial and perhaps even him. _Yeah, maybe even the sales dropped…_ she halted suddenly at that thought and scolded herself for such uncharacteristic pompousness. _Oh my god, I've got Malfoy-ish thoughts… help! _

"Mrs. Potter… how strange to see you," Tomas proclaim in an exasperating casualty, leaning back on his leather chair, perching his feet on top of the writing desk made of dark polished wood and steepling his fingers together. "I was quite sure you forgot your way back to the offices. "

Ginny narrowed her eyes momentarily at the reference of that particular surname, but washed away the expression quickly, sitting down on the chair in front of him. "Mr. Brooks," she smiled curtly. "No, I haven't forgotten my way--"

"Well, you might as well have," he cut her off suddenly, his cold green eyes flashing with something eager and unfamiliar, though his whole exterior continued being cool and collected.

Ginny paused mid air, scanning the handsome editor, her eyes lingering on his tensed fingers that were now clutched together. Tomas was well trained, as many other Slytherins, to hide his emotions under the cool facade and he was somewhat perfect at that, except for the little twitch in his fingers that seemed to give it all away.

Ginny decided to let the comment slide and opened her mouth again to finish what she was saying. "I scheduled an appointment to see you so we could discuss my return to the _Daily Prophet_'s staff."

Tomas raised an eyebrow in an almost amused manner. "You did? Well than, I'm afraid you have wasted your time, because the issue is not open for discussion. Now, if you don't mind to closing the door on your wa-- "

"Excuse me, but that is unacceptable," Ginny stated firmly.

Tomas' eyes flashed once again with some unrecognizable heat that could've easily make Ginny recoil in her seat. But she maintained her poise, evenly staring him straight in his honey-coated jade eyes.

"Unacceptable, it is?" In one fluid motion he withdrew his feet back onto the floor and placed his slender fingers on the top of his desk, slowly rising to his feet in an obvious attempt to loom over her. "Would you like me to share with you my version of 'unacceptable', Mrs. Potter?" he paused for a moment, but obviously wasn't waiting for her reply. "I deem 'unacceptable' the fact that an employee of mine had the sheer audacity to disappear completely for over a month. Forgetting about obligations, dead lines and an editorial article that was bestowed upon her as a gift from above. Forgetting about her responsibilities to this newspaper, this staff, to herself and most of all - to _me_!"

He paused for a moment, staring intently into her hazel eyes and Ginny deemed this as the opportunity to speak up, but was cut off abruptly when he spoke again. "This, Mrs. Potter, is what really is unacceptable. You were granted those responsibilities and were expected to take care of them, but instead you were revealed as a disappointment," he finished, lowering himself back into his chair, and grabbed some papers, keenly organizing them.

Ginny sighed, for a moment afraid the infamous Weasley temper would have the last word. But she clenched her hand into a tight fist and that seemed to calm her down a bit. "Mr. Brooks, I understand that what I've done was completely irresponsible and utterly unprofessional, but lately I was just preoccupied with a personal matter that required some time away from the editorial. But now that the matter is taken care of - " she lied lightly, " - I assure you my work will not suffer anymore. I oblige all of my time to the editorial and I promise you, you won't regret hiring me back," she finished, quite satisfied with her little speech. But the chill wafting from Tomas was enough to send her into uncertainly again.

Tomas narrowed his eyes, gazing at her for a long while. "A good journalist never allows her personal matters to reflect on her work, Mrs. Potter," he said quite calmly, but Ginny couldn't help but notice a tiny crack in his expression. Was that concern? "Let it be a lesson learned," he said finally and returned to the papers, waving his hand at her dismissively.

Ginny made a gesture to stand up, then stopped in her tracks, confused. "Does this mean you give me my job back?" she asked hopefully.

Tomas raised his bleak green eyes to bore into her, his nostrils flared and Ginny suddenly had the feeling he might shout. "No, Mrs. Potter," his voice was calm, though. "I will not rehire you because you promise me you won't do it again. You are not five years old child, who can squirm his way out of a mess with big pleading eyes and a coy smile," he spat out, his eyes glistening venomously.

Ginny hardened her posture, glaring at her angered editor as he referred to her speech as an attempt to squirm her way out of a mess. "If you're implying that I elaborated my reasons for my latter absence--"

"I do not imply a thing, Mrs. Potter. Now would you do me a favour and leave my office? I have plenty of work to do and if I'm not mistaken…" he paused, glancing at her with a smirk. "The entrance is for members of the staff only, so you are trespassing…"

Ginny's eyes widened in rage as she felt her self-control crack completely. "You have absolutely no right to fire me! I was absent for 36 days that can be easily deducted as sick days or as a vacation since I haven't had one or taken the others in three years! I am the best damn journalist you have and I will not allow you to discard me like this! I demand the proper respect and immediate rehiration!"

Tomas raised an unnerved eyebrow, momentarily noticing the sudden silence from the usually buzzing editorial outside of his office. He leisurely pulled out his wand and muttering something under his breath, the room was covered with magical silencing field, guaranteeing that those beyond the editor's offices wouldn't hear a single word. He waited a moment longer until the editorial reclaimed its' usual buzz and averted his attention to the flushed redhead in front of him. He stared at her wordlessly, as if assessing her or trying to read beneath her furious rind, but was unable as Ginny's doe-like eyes became as cold and steely as Malfoy's.

"Rehiration is not a word," he said casually after an excruciatingly long pause.

Ginny felt her cheeks burn more fiercely when his calmness and amendment reverberated like a stinging slap to her face. She was about to open her mouth once again to let out another flow of shouting - most probably obscenities - but he stopped her before she began with a swift motion of his hand.

"I understand your agitation, Mrs. _Potter_," there was something strange in the way he pronounced the surname, hissing or spitting it out, Ginny wasn't sure. "But my mind is set. You will not receive your former position as a journalist on this staff. And," he added, seeing Ginny's eyes dart to his withdrawn wand, as if reading her thoughts, "I would solicit you to refrain from cursing or hexing, since that'll be quite hard to perform without your wand and mine will backfire, I can assure you."

Ginny glared at him indignantly, berating herself for being so transparent with her malicious wishes, and huffed indignantly before hurrying out of the office and slamming the door behind her so hard, it partly flew off its' hinges.

-------------------------------------------

Ginny stormed down Diagon Alley's main streets, tightening the robes around herself hastily and glaring dangerously at all the pedestrians that dared to cross her in her foul mood. She had been mumbling to herself even since she left Tomas's office, cursing and sputtering spiteful words, wishing she could just wrap her long fingers around that git's neck and wring it!

He had never acted so hateful and malevolent with her and she was utterly taken aback by his sudden atrociousness. She was so sure she had this in the bag, she never even considered the possibility that he might decline her. And he was so mad at her, so angry, as if she disappeared intentionally just to spite him, so he was punishing her for something way serious and hideous than taking this unexpected "vacation".

_How dare that Slytherin prat do this to me?_ she fumed to herself, slicing her way through the thickening crowds. _Damn it, I'm his best reporter! What the hell was he thinking to himself? He cannot afford himself to lose me--oh hush, humbleness!_

She stopped abruptly, her eyes still spitting fire, when she noticed the familiar sign just above her head - Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions. She scowled to herself, absently patting her pockets in search for the purse Malfoy left her this morning, and deepened the frown when she finally found it. Growling dangerously just because she felt like it, she stomped into the shop, her eyes darting around for the cheeky seamstress.

"Mrs. Potter!" the chipper voice carried to her from the back room of the shop as the small, plump older witch stepped out to greet her with the widest and the most pleasant smile Ginny had seen in a while. "How absolutely delightful to see you again!"

Ginny felt the anger slowly seep away as she smiled to Madam Malkin and inclined her head curtly, "Good afternoon, Madam Malkin."

Madam Malkin lead her deeper into the shop, ushering her to the expensive robes' section. "I know the perfect textile for your new robes, I just had it delivered this morning, I'll show you right now. Mr. Malfoy was here in the morning and informed me of your arrival, so I took the initiative and had already chosen the colours that would go absolutely stunning with your red locks. Oh, such a pretty mop of hair! You know, when I was younger I once bewitched my hair to be exactly the same shade, but, alas, it did not suit my complexion…"

Ginny wanted to shoot the cheerful seamstress a dry glare. Was she kidding? Her head was still flaming the same acid red caused by their brothers' stupid prank candy, and Ginny was quite sure she could easily glow in the dark. The hair already gained her few gawks, stares and whispered sniggering. But she was sure the shopkeeper meant nothing malicious by her words and let it slide. Suddenly, though, something suddenly caught on with her. "Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy informed you of my arrival?" Ginny began to feel the same anger that overtook her this morning boil it's way outwards. She stared at Madam Malkin intently, waiting for her reply, inwardly hoping she misheard.

"Well, yes!" the witch replied cheerfully, apparently oblivious to Ginny's inner rage. "He told me you were coming today, said that you might look reluctant, but that should disregard that and show you only the finest and the most expensive robes I have in my store. I, of course, wasn't that pleased about the 'disregard' part, but when a man like Draco Malfoy tells you to offer only the best, you tend to comply…" she trailed off, sharing a secretive wink with Ginny. Giggling jubilantly to herself, Madam Malkin hurried into the back room and carried back a heap of the most luxurious robes and fabrics Ginny had ever seen.

But she was too furious by now to actually notice any of it as Madam Malkin flashed them before her eyes, babbling to herself nonstop. Ginny's jaws were clenched as she stared onwards, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms and she wondered how the hell she happened upon two Slytherin gits, allowing them to ruin her day. _And it started so nice in the twins' shop too,_ she thought to herself miserably.

Finally, taking a deep breath and averting her attention to the chirpy witch that continued flashing the fine fabrics in front of her, she glanced at the prices and her eyes widen. "Madam Malkin, am I buying robes or small islands?" She knew it was quite rude, but she couldn't stop herself from blurting it out.

Madam Malkin seemed confused, as she didn't understand this particular quip. "Er, robes, dear. Are you feeling well?"

_As well as one can be in my situation,_ she thought to herself, shaking out of it and giving the seamstress a reassuring smile. "I guess I'm a little bit tired, I apologize. I missed breakfast today…"

"Oh you shouldn't do it, dear! Breakfast is the most important meal of the day! And it's almost lunchtime now," the witch preached concernedly. "Anyway, about this robe… I was thinking we could tighten it a bit in the waist area, since you have such lovely curves…"

Ginny smiled at the compliment, but stopped Madam Malkin from further discussions. "I'm sorry, Madam Malkin, but I'm afraid Mr. Malfoy gave you the wrong impression when he came by earlier. I did not come here to buy expensive robes, nor custom made ones. I'm here to buy just few plain everyday robes and some clothes."

Madam Malkin looked as though Ginny had slapped her across her face with those words. She recovered quickly tough, taking away the costly robes and materials, and lead Ginny to the stack of everyday robes, continuing her casual chatter.

When Ginny finally left Madam Malkin's shop, she was carrying two bags filled with simple and satisfying clothes and robes. She smiled to herself, content at the fact that she managed to spend less than half of what Malfoy had left her, though she had no idea why she was so pleased about it. She shrugged sheepishly and glanced at her watch. She had spent a whole hour at the robe shop and now she could clearly hear her stomach rumbling sulkily. She turned to the direction of the Leaky Cauldron, wishing to get from there to Malfoy Manor as soon as she could. She was getting cold, hungry and tired and she decided she had enough excitement for one day.

-------------------------------------------

Ginny passed down the overcrowded streets, smiling peacefully to herself and those that brushed past her. Her mood was now much better than when she had left _Daily Prophet_'s editorial and she was cheered up by the thought of returning to the Manor and changing out of her clothes. Oh, how she longed for the day she could change out of these close…

Passed by a small cozy café, she didn't give it more than the casual glance of a pedestrian and was about to continue onwards, when she heard someone's rushing steps behind her. Heart leaping into irrational dread, she squared her shoulders and clutched her bags tighter, preparing herself to whack whoever it was senseless.

She whipped her head around and what she faced made her feel something even worse than the foolish fear. When she saw a waiter from the little café run over to her side, taking his time to catch his breath in the crisp autumn air, she felt hot flashes of embarrassment creep up her neck. She was beginning to develop a serious case of paranoia and she knew it couldn't be all that good.

She waited for the waiter to straighten up and face her with a flushed smile. "You got some legs on you, Miss," he said jokingly, but seeing Ginny's blush deepen, he hurried to correct himself. "I meant that you walk very quickly! I wasn't saying that you have beautiful legs," he paused, blushing himself. "Not that there is something wrong with your legs! I'm sure they're very nice--legs-- I haven't even seen your legs!" he blurted in panic, his voice hitching desperately. Feeling his cheeks burn furiously and the heat creeping up to his ears, he tried to again. "Not that I ask you to show me your legs, I wasn't-- I-- oh bugger!" he slumped his head dejectedly, feeling defeated.

Ginny's blush softened and she laughed at the young man's attempt to amend himself. "It's okay. Just stop talking for a minute, gather your thoughts and then try again," she coached him warmly. Her heart went out to the young man since she knew all too well the blushing and rambling as she had experienced all that on herself before. She watched him take a deep breath and give her a grateful smile when he spoke again.

"My name is Derek, I am a waiter in the 'Armaund Café'. And I was asked by Master Malfoy to invite you to join him for lunch," he said in the perfect manner, adding proudly to himself. "Yeah…"

Ginny's features stiffened immediately at the mention of Draco's name and she scowled unconsciously. _That prat wants me to dine with him? He cannot be serious! I can't believe that git!_ Then, suddenly noticing the surprised look on Derek's face, she softened her eyes and smiled at him. "Please tell Malfoy that he is the most stupid, obnoxious and detestable being, and if he really thinks for even one moment that I wi-- you know what, I'll tell him myself!" she said, turning around completely and marching in the direction of the small café with Derek at her heels.

She walked into the warm establishment, scanning the room for the familiar white-blonde hair, finally spotting him in the outmost secluded part of the room. Derek curtly took her bags and cloak away, then escorted her to Malfoy's table. Ginny kept her gaze away from him while Derek offered her a chair and asked what would she order, since Draco apparently just ordered and was waiting for his meal. She was about to decline when Malfoy cut in non-too patiently, ordering for her the same as he was having and dismissing Derek with an irritated wave of his hand.

Ginny glared at the fair-haired man across the table, who was extremely interested with his own glass of water. "That," she hissed at him. "Was uncalled for. I am not staying, as I'm not hungry," she proclaimed.

"Merlin's beard, Weasley! What on earth happened to your hair!" he sound incredulous, amused and shocked all at once, ignoring her attempt to decline the invitation, and Ginny couldn't help the crimson that crept across her face, eager to match her lurid hair.

"Nothing," she grumbled, glaring daggers

"You're a terrible liar, Weasley," he stated, his steely eyes gleaming.

"You're repeating yourself, Malfoy," Ginny countered calmly, hoping she would be able to control her temper at least now. He didn't deserve her lashing out and she never could understand how exactly he always managed to cause her stoic to crack.

Draco paused for a moment, his smirk comfortably crowning his handsome features. "Well, wouldn't want that, would we?" he chuckled, obviously deciding to drop her hair.

Ginny couldn't help herself from rolling her eyes. _Who do you think you are, you idiot?_

"So," he drawled in a bored manner, his lips quirking into a shadow of a smirk. "By the bags you carried in, I take it that you took up the opportunity to spend my money…"

Ginny felt a small flush trace its' way up her neck and down her ears. _Gods, please make it legal to wring people's necks if they're asking for it,_ she prayed silently, sensing her anger slowly simmering up. She grabbed the purse from her pocket and tossed it across the table. Luckily it didn't land on his plate, which would've probably broken it. She watched him scan the purse with one perfectly shaped brow raised up in surprise.

"So, the Weasley pride didn't allow you to succumb yourself to the mercy of your worst enemy," he said, his smirk turning into a sneer. "Fine, walk in your rags…"

Ginny raised both her eyebrows at his reply, tilting her head to the side. _Are you kidding me? Is he offended?_

"What?" he snapped irritably.

"Are you hurt I didn't use your money?" she asked him finally.

He glared at her with disbelief and snorted. "Please! I couldn't care less, Weasley. I just thought you'd like to get our of those clothes, but I guess you're used to wearing the same garments for weeks on end…"

Ginny clenched her fists again, feeling the anger slip up another notch, preparing to overflow her rational thinking again. "I cannot believe you are the same hateful childish brat you were in school," she hissed at him. "Why can't you grow up, Malfoy? Why can't you, for once in your miserable life, just shut your mouth if you haven't anything besides insults to say?"

"Because then I wouldn't be able to talk to most of the riffraff that surrounds me, Weasley," he intoned evenly.

Ginny glared at him and heaved an angry quivering sigh. "I don't understand you, Malfoy," she declared suddenly, her voice soft and inquiring. "You fought against the Dark Lord, you've helped out Harry in the Final Battle, you've risked your own life for _my_ father's… why the hell are you still acting like the Death Eater's son!" she was becoming frustrated, though she wasn't quite sure he was fully responsible for her peaky state. "I-- I just don't understand you…"

"It is not your place to understand me, little weasel," he countered, smirking at her in amusement.

"And whose place is it, then? One of your shrewish lady-friends?"

Draco snorted as a reply and leaned onto the table, tipping his head closer to hers. "Is that jealousy I detect in your voice? "

In an instant Ginny looked appalled and any desire her stomach might've expressed mere moments before was thwarted by the idea. "And you expect me to eat after such a question?"

Draco smirked at her reply, leaning back again. "Touché, Weasel…"

There was a silence for a moment and Draco scowled to himself. Ginny raised an eyebrow, but he ignored her silent inquiry.

"So what was in those bags you carried in?" he asked indifferently when was finally sick of the silence.

"Some robes and clothes," Ginny said casually, tilting her water glass from side to side, watching the water swirl around.

Draco narrowed his eyes a little, scanning her neutral expression. "I thought you didn't use my money…"

"I never said such a thing," she countered evenly, watching him clench his jaws in what seemed to Ginny as an attempt to hold himself back. "I just didn't buy the expensive robes you prodded Madam Malkin into offering me."

He did not reply, just watched her more closely as she sipped her water, glancing over her shoulder towards the kitchen and wondering what was taking so long with their meals. Just as if on cue, Derek returned, carefully carrying two plates with the best-looking pasta Ginny had ever seen. She gave Malfoy a surprised look and smiled at Derek, thanking him politely.

What was she expecting of a typical Malfoy lunch? Well, definitely not pasta, she was sure about that. She thought there might be more blood to it; perhaps even some virgin's vital organs or body parts. This? This almost put Malfoy in a human light. Almost.

"So what did you do today?" he inquired quite indifferently, his features expressionless as he picked up his fork. "Reread your books for the tenth time?"

Ginny eyed him over her plate. "How do you know what I do in my spare time?"

He smirked at his plate, busying himself with the food. "I know everything that's going on in my house, Weasel…"

Ginny shuddered at that. There was something in his intonation that inclined she had nowhere to hide, not even in her own mind. She decided not to reply to this comment and just returned to her meal for the time being. A silence spread between them, but Ginny couldn't call it awkward or stressful, since he wasn't someone she felt awkward or stressed about. She knew very clearly about what she had felt for the man in front of her. She also knew that most of it was hammered into her mind by her older brothers and later on proofed to be absolutely true, except one thing - he wasn't the evil incarnate. He was just a very pompous, spiteful and indignant five-year-old; quite like her own brothers at times, but she resounded that thought only to herself - she needn't have her brothers out for her blood.

"I went to the editorial today to ask Brooks for my job back… I work as a journalist for the _Daily Prophet_," she added to clarify, knowing Malfoy probably had no idea about her current occupation.

"Considering the fact that I scan that paper from cover to cover everyday, I have to say that I knew that already," he droned, taking a sip of the offered wine.

Ginny blinked, then nodded. _So he did know…_ "He refused though," she said around her spaghetti, resettling into silence with a frown as thoughts of Tomas' inevitable painful death flashed through her mind.

Draco was silent and Ginny didn't think he's react to her words, so it startled her a bit when he intoned offhandedly, "Tomas Brooks?"

"Uh, yes. He's my editor," she said almost evenly and glanced at Draco for a moment. His face was bleak and so were his eyes. It seemed he hadn't spoken at all and she just deemed to hear him. She shook her head and wordlessly finished her meal, disposing any further attempts at speaking with him.

When they'd both finished their meals, Draco beckoned their waiter to bring the check and when that returned, Draco reached out the leather bound notepad to Ginny and quirked up an eyebrow. "Would you mind?" he leered maliciously, watching her face shroud in deep crimson shade yet again and releasing a mean cackle to himself as he reached into his pockets for his purse. He paid the bill and eyed Ginny superiorly. Ginny couldn't miss the sudden uplift in his mood.

"I couldn't help myself," he commented almost sheepishly.

"I do not appreciate the remarks or actions such as this one, Malfoy," Ginny hissed at him, feeling her anger return full force.

"Yes, well, you seem to find the perfect way to avoid them," he pointed out, reaching out his long, pianist's fingers to wrap around the stem of his wine glass and bringing it closer to his lips. "By avoiding me," he added above the crystal rim.

Suddenly through an odd wave of horror, Ginny found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the man in front of her, namely his lips. Those finely shaped pale lips, curved tentatively to accommodate and please his numerous drunken giggling conquests. Her eyes slipped from his upper lip to the bottom, noticing the slight arch at the lower part of his upper lip and the soft camber of his lower one. Those lips seemed so gentle and tender, Ginny had a hard time admitting that they belonged to this cruel man.

_Ginny, honey, you've been cooped up in that Manor for way too long…_ She closed her eyes and gingerly shook her head, tired for some reason.

"Well, what would you suggest me to do, then? Stick around you and listen passively while you insult my family? I know you know nothing about me, Malfoy, but even you know better than to expect me to act timidly when you trash my family," she spat at him, hoping to sound as venomous as he.

Malfoy was quiet for a long while, glaring intently at Ginny. "If you actually expect_ me_ to act differently just because you're staying in the Manor, you have another thing coming, little weasel," he said slowly, as stating nothing more, but a simple fact.

Ginny narrowed her eyes, her mind seething with sudden anger and rage. She spoke out, still trying to control herself as much as possible. "You are nothing, but a horrid child, Draco Malfoy! You are an insufferable git and I wish I'd never had the misfortune of meeting you!"

"Oh, you do, do you?" he hissed, leaning closer to her again, his face crowned with an unpleasant sneer. "And what would have happened to the little rodent, have I not happened on her way _that_ fateful evening?"

Ginny blanched.

"I'll tell you what would've happened," he pressed, finding delight in her reaction. "You would've returned to your home sweet home and allowed the not-so-saint Potter to grovel for forgiveness in an utterly and disgustingly sappy way, which you would've believed because you are so idiotically in love with the lowlife. What you don't know is that he would've struck again, I can assure you, and the next time you might've not survived his tantrum. And still," his voice was losing its permanent nonchalant note, becoming pregnant with loathing and disdain one barely was able to harbor without exploding, which he did now. "_Still_! You wouldn't have left him, because you would've continued believing that he truly is sorry, that it really isn't him who strikes you, that he could never ever do something like that! And maybe, most probably, most definitely, you might've even started blaming yourself! Thinking that he couldn't have ever done something as horrible as hitting his lovely little wife if she had done everything right! And maybe you haven't done everything right? Maybe it really is your fault he decided to pummel you!" the last words were barked out, finally drawing attention of the other patrons, while he continued to steadfastly glare at her.

Ginny gaped at the shouting wizard, watching his fair skin undertake the loveliest shades of scarlet and the chords in his throat straining under his tirade. Glaring, she tried to ignore the terrible tremble in her hands and lips and narrowed her eyes dangerously, nostrils flaring and fists clenching tightly. "Why you little--" she bit her tongue before saying anything else. Her hand subconsciously rampaged her pockets, but she once again realized her wand was not with her. Her throat tightened painfully and she felt her eyes begin to sting. Clamping her mouth shut, she sprung up so swiftly that her chair flew back and hurried away from that heartless man. Grabbing her robes and bags at the entrance she did not glance aback when she ran out of the café, cursing the fair-haired man with all her might.


	5. I Don't Sleep

**5 :: I Don't Sleep**

Ginny's mind was still reeling fifteen minutes later as she snaked her way through the overcrowded street, her dainty figure and bright red locks salient in the sea of drab cloaks. Her hands gripped the handles of her bags, nails sinking into her own flesh as she futilely tried to prevent the hot and furious blush. The lump in her throat grew bigger and the thick veil of miserable tears hazed her vision. She could not believe Malfoy had said those words, that he was actually able to pronounce such mean and hateful things. She shivered, not knowing whether from the cold, from her rage or his remorseless abhorrence.

She could feel her tears freeze in their tracks and soon afterwards her eyes dried completely. She could not afford to break so easily every time he spoke his blasted mind. She wouldn't be able to survive in his house for much longer if she did. Her eyes darted onwards aimlessly as she coaxed herself gently to breathe and let his meaningless words slide off, like water from duck's feathers.

When she suddenly saw a familiar figure coming into the view amidst the faceless throng, she instinctively smiled and hurried that way, wishing to hold onto that man tightly and complain about Malfoy's idiocy. But when the green eyes caught her approach and something foreign glinted in them, she halted to an immediate stop. Her heart skipped a fearful beat and she wished with all her might that somehow Harry had not noticed her. Perhaps amidst the crowd he had spotted some other familiar face and not her. _Oh, please, please, let it be so…_

But when his smile broadened into that well known welcoming grin, she knew it was her that he had seen. She momentarily considered the idea of turning around and running away, but she wasn't raised that way and she would not start acting like such a coward now. She squared her shoulders and gripped the bags even tighter, walking closer to him with as casual expression as she could muster. She hated feeling this way. The fear and the discomfort caused by the man she loves should not at all be in existence. It was ridiculous and unbelievably foolish, but she could not shake the fidgety feeling in the pit of her stomach. She became unnerved in his presence and she was afraid it was her fault; her moronic overreaction that led her into this unneeded panic.

She walked over, towards the extremely colorful window display of "Flourish and Blotts", managing a polite smile and nodded at him curtly. This sudden sense of detachment, as if they were nothing more than mere acquaintances, made her even more disgruntled with her own behavior.

"Hey," he said sheepishly, noting her choice to stand at some distance. "Umm, how are you?"

Ginny sighed, her smile widening slightly at the ludicrous situation. They were acting like strangers so timid, and stupid, that she couldn't believe herself. This was her husband, for Merlin's sake! "I'm… fine, I guess. You?"

"Okay," he nodded in response. "You know - work, house…"

Ginny saw the brief scowl before he managed to hide it and decided to pointedly ignore the bitterness lacing his voice. He was suffering as much as she was, and she wanted so much just to hold him close right there and tell him to take her home.

"What-- what are you doing here?" he asked after a stretch of silence.

"Needed some robes," Ginny supplied, showing the bags in her hand. "Wanted to talk to Tomas about my job."

"And how did that go?" he inquired evenly. "He took you back?"

"Err, no." She couldn't help but notice the tiny spark in his eyes. "He… umm, didn't." She glanced away, watching the countless nameless strangers passing them by as if they didn't exist.

"Gin, look," Harry suddenly fired at her, obviously deciding to cut to the chase. "Are you avoiding me?"

Ginny heard the anxiety in his voice and her heart bled. How could she tell him that she was afraid of him and had spent the last week locked up in the house of his school archenemy mostly because she dreaded the possibility of running into him. She couldn't bring herself to cause him anymore pain. "What are you doing here?" she asked instead, wincing at the awful change of subject.

He motioned toward the bookstore, thankfully deciding to play along. "Work stuff. Bakely is in there talking to Blotts about the shipment of cursed books they god last week." His voice grew impatient and exasperated and when he stopped, he pressed his mouth into a tight line and took a deep breath. He obviously gave up on the small talk and made an effort to catch her wandering eye before speaking up again. "I miss you."

He took a step closer, and Ginny's body reacted on its own accord, stepping away from what it deemed a threat. He stared at her incredulous, devastated, but was unable to say a word. She bit her lip and ran a hand through her hair, wishing she could stop the sudden tremor in them. "I-- know. I'm sorry. I miss you too— "

"Then come home, Gin. Just… come home"

His plea was silent and desperate, spoken solely to her despite the constant flow of people around them. His voice was traced with longing, his loneliness was visible in the shade of his eyes, and his need for her emanated from his very body.

She shivered in her warm cloak, suddenly noticing how very close he came to stand. Her heart beat rapidly and she inhaled slowly, drawing in that earthy familiar scent that was everything Harry. She should have never run. It was immature, and cowardly, and so absolutely uncharacteristic of her. She had never been the one to run away. Ever. What had happened that night was a regrettable mistake. It was awful and despicable and utterly unpardonable, but he didn't mean to raise his hand. She knew it to the marrow of her bones, that he had never meant her any harm. He loved her _so_ much. She knew his love - it was comforting and soft and brilliantly warm. I could never be the harshness and cruelty she witnessed that evening. She knew _him_, and the man that struck her wasn't him. She looked up into his eyes and inhaled slowly. What she needed right now was to lean into his arms, cry away Malfoy's insults and go home with him.

The thought circulated pleasantly through her weary mind, assuaging the raw wounds left by the blond's accusations. Accusations that she would cave, relent, go back and place herself in a more dire situation than she was in now. Ginny felt her heart give a frightful skip as those accusations ran rapidly through her mind

_"__—You would've returned home … he would have struck again, no matter how sorrowful… you'd still stay by his side… think you know him and that the man that struck you wasn't really him. …"_

Ginny became rigid for a moment, yet somehow managed to take a step away from Harry. She could not go back without having everything figured out and she wasn't anywhere near figuring it out. She was still as confused as ever, if not more so, and she was sure Harry would benefit from their time apart as well. He was hurting, she could see it in his eyes. She hurt too, but she dreaded her pain would not dissipate into thin air if she ignored it long enough.

"I can't, Harry," she finally whispered, keeping her eyes firmly away.

She could feel his entire body tense. She was still so attuned to him and that made this so much harder.

"What?" His voice was laced with a calm demand, but a demand nonetheless.

Ginny shook her head, biting her lower lip. "I can't. I just can't yet. _Please_ understand this." She shifted her weight uncomfortably, inching away.

"You can't?" he echoed in a voice that sounded foreign and unfamiliar. "Is someone stopping you?"

"No," she replied, glancing nervously at the people around. no one seemed to be paying them much attention, and she really didn't wish to change that situation.

"Then? Why can't you come home?" he insisted. "Or are you afraid that returning home would interfere with your screwing around?"

Ginny snapped her head up, staring into his emerald eyes, not believing what she just heard.

"How stupid do you think I am, Gin?" Harry demanded, grabbing her arm and hauling her closer to him. "You're not staying at the Burrow, not in the Leaky Cauldron, not in any other inn in the Diagon Alley. So _where_ do you live? And how exactly are you _paying_ for your stay?"

He shook her roughly, glaring down at her frightened expression as if she was the most disgusting thing he had ever seen. She saw in his eyes the same flash of brutality that dominated them that night and she couldn't help but tremble.. She tried to push his away, yank her arm out of his grip, but his fingers were like vices, digging painfully into the flesh of her arm. She dropped the bags and tried to shove him away, struggling again his, but all was in vain. He simply shook her once more, as if she was nothing but a pitiful ragdoll. Her frightened gaze searched the crowd, but not a single looked their way and a ghost of a suspicion crept through her mind, fueling the hastily growing terror.

"Tell me, Gin! Who is it?" he shouted right into her face, jerking her again when she provided no answer.

With a sinking sensation in her stomach, Ginny finally noticed the pale blue ripple of magic around them. He had cast a cloak around them – none could see them until he decided otherwise – and she had stepped right into it of her own will.

"_Tell me_!" She wished desperately for her wand, hand sneaking through the folds of her robes, but just like in the café, she realized she did not have it. But she had to do something, she had to get away!

She stomped onto one of his feet and when he grunted at the unexpected strike, she sent a fixed punch toward his face. She hit his nose and with morbid satisfaction heard the crunch and saw the spurt of blood that covered her fist, ignoring the subtle pain resonating from her own hand. Perhaps it wasn't particularly so, but it had made Harry stumble away and gave her enough time to spring into the surging crowd. Her petrified dash for freedom luckily was not followed, and as she ran tears stung her eyes. But she attributed that to the throbbing pain in her probably broken fingers.

.

Ginny glanced at the wooden door that slid silently into its' place. She closed her eyes with a wince, wishing that the door had made a sound. . She had been wandering about Muggle London for the past six hours - her feet ached, her muscles burned, her head swam with lightheadedness and her fingers still throbbed painfully. Her mind was veiled so thickly with gloom, she could scarcely find her way back to the Malfoy Manor. Her eyes were sore from the incessant tears and the cold wind. Her throat was tight and she could hardly drag her breaths anymore. Her cloak and clothes were smeared with dirt, she wasn't sure from where, and her whole body was in a state of numbness.

She spent the afternoon trying to explain, understand, excuse and finally deny what had happened with Harry in the Diagon Alley. But no matter how hard she tried to think clearly, she was unable to. The moment she tried to, her mind blurred immediately and all trains of thought were lost in the darkness. She trudged onwards into the massive foyer, only half aware of her surroundings. As she reached the staircase that lead into her bedroom, she glanced up and seeing it stretch to a seemingly unreachable destination, she plopped herself down onto the lowest step and gathered her knees in a tight embrace.

Mere moments later, Ora appeared with a soft popping. Ginny glanced up as the little house elf placed a gentle bony hand on top of her flaming locks and stroked her head tenderly. Then, Ora smiled at her fondly and ushered her to stand. Obeying the elf's caring assistance, Ginny climbed up the stairs and into her bedchamber. There, Ora discarded her of her clothes and led her to the already prepared bathtub filled with warm water. The house elf rinsed her carefully just as she did the first night and healed most of her various aches. But when the kind fingers reached the four violet bracelets on Ginny's right arm – the bruises left by his painful grip –and was about to vanish them, Ginny stopped her, covering them with her hand.

"Leave these," she said quietly. She didn't know why she asked, but she wanted those bruises to stay.

"Master Draco--" the elf began to squeak a protest, but Ginny hushed her with glance stare.

"These stay. "

Ora closed her mouth with an indignant huff and proceeded to towel Ginny's body off. She then dressed her in a white crisp nightgown and led her to the bad, tucking her in and wishing her goodnight before disappearing.

Ginny inhaled slowly and shakily and closed her eyes, Ora's care and kindness bracing her in an air of now-unfamiliar tranquility, as her mind blurred once again and she sailed into a deep slumber.

.

Pain dominated her world, sinking its' claws into various parts of her defenseless body, hissing and ripping her muscles as she tried to move. Around her the Chamber of Secrets was filled with furious blazes, lashing uncontrollably at the both sides of this seemingly lost battle. Red and green sparks wheezed over her and the smoldering air was filled with curses and hexes flung from all around her. One of her legs was broken and popped in an odd angle; thick blood oozed down her face from the fierce blow to the head she received a while ago; her clothes and hands were smeared with blood, and her entire body sported cuts and bruises. Still gripping tightly her hazel wand, she spit curses at every Death Eater within her range. _If I die tonight, I will leave a trail of dead bodies in my wake!_

Suddenly she felt a pair of forceful arms wrap her waist, yanking her up and hauling her away from the battle. She was dropped behind a pillar for cover, insulted for her stupidity by a faceless voice and left along just as quickly. She didn't recognize the man but she had a feeling she knew him; he was probably a member of the Order. Trying to move, she hissed loudly when her broken leg twisted excruciatingly, grounding her completely. She was well hidden behind the massive column and was impossible to spot in the current commotion unless searched for specifically. She couldn't see much from her position, but she saw enough to keep her breath hitched and her heart hammering.

Harry and Voldemort appeared in her view, moving almost beautifully in their own personal battle - attack, retreat, defend, attack again. Harry was always beautiful with his salient features and the undeniable bravery, but at the time of an encounter he shone with golden regality. Ginny couldn't help the little shaky puff that escaped her lips as he underwent another successful attack. The war will be over tonight and Harry will be victorious, there was no doubt about it in her heart.

Suddenly Ginny stirred out of her reverie, hearing the dreadful words ring through the walls - "_Avada Kedavra_". Her gaze shot up to find Harry's lifeless body lay at the feet of the Dark Lord and Voldemort himself laughing triumphantly, his crimson gaze piercing her unerringly. Her heart tightened painfully and somehow she knew she was dead when he called for her in that unnerving manner that never failed to make her feel small and hopeless.

"Ginevra…".

Growing up with six big brothers whom during various periods of their lives were most frequently characterized by sadistic behavior, taught Ginny to bear pain and alarm silently. Ever since she could remember herself she always stifled cries of terror, biting them down and burying them deep. So even though her nightmares were often almost unbearable and she always woke up with a startled jump, she would always smother the scream before it had the chance to leave her mouth.

Sitting up on her bed, Ginny gripped her chest tightly, feeling an ache where Voldemort's curse hit Harry in her dream. Her heart beat faster and her stomach churned as always. Her nightgown was soaked in sweat and so were her sheets and pillowcase. She swung her feet over the side of her bed and walked into the bathroom, still rubbing her chest and breathing shallowly. She rinsed her face, glancing into the mirror to see the haunted look in her eyes that scared a bit more. She closed her eyes and gulped hard, suddenly having the urge to whimper in utter despair.

She shook her head and walked back into the bedroom, noticing that it was still dark out side; a quick glance at the grandfather clock informed her that it was about passed two and that she had slept for over six hours. She rubbed her eyes, yawning.

Suddenly she caught sight of three large bags from Madam Malkin's robe shop, perched on top of the writing desk. Holding her breath, she walked over to the desk, for a moment dreading that Harry had discovered her whereabouts. The bags were indeed filled with her robes, and in one of them

a thin prolonged box wrapped in brown paper rested atop a bundle of fabric. Over it lay a small note. She reached in and took out the box and the note, examining the strange cursive handwriting.

_What I did this afternoon was out of place__. You have every right to avoid me. _

_PS - I noticed you were searching for this__. _

Not signed, the note was obviously from Harry. The box contained her hazel wand inside of it and though she was somewhat reluctant to accept any consolatory gifts from him at the moment, her heart swooned with relief at the sight of her cherished wand.

It must have been brought while she was sleeping, but Merlin! What kind of a bird carried three bags filled with robes?

She got dressed and pocketed the much-missed wand, heading out of the chamber; she needed to eat something now that she was awake. She felt a little bit better now that her wand was safely placed within her pocket. Harry's note seemed strange to her in its' briskness, but Ginny knew Harry never was the one to place his feelings on paper. She knew he was extremely sorrowful and pained, but this time she regarded the fact from somewhat of a distance.

She strolled into the dining room, meaning to call for a house elf to prepare her something to eat, but she stopped in her tracks, finding Draco sitting by the table and reading the 'Daily Prophet'.

She turned around and was about to walk straight out when Draco's familiar drawl stopped her in her track. "Come in, Weasley. I don't bite."

Ginny turned back to see the sides of his mouths quirked up. She sighed, knowing this conversation will turn out into an ugly argument as well. "It's you're bark that bothers me," she replied quietly, walking to the table and sitting down on her usual chair.

"Oh?" he inquired, intrigued, but Ginny decided to ignore it.

She waited for the food to appear on her plate and then started to eat silently, hoping that by disregarding Draco, she would prevent any further discussion. After his words at lunch, the last thing Ginny wanted was for him to talk to her. _I will be the bigger person and just ignore him._

"So, what happened after lunch?" Draco asked the paper, but Ginny assumed he expected her to answer.

She paused with the fork halfway to her mouth and chanced a glance at him. Ora must have told him in what state she had returned earlier. "Nothing much."

Draco did not reply immediately, but after a while his gaze left the paper and turned to scan her her tensed features while she continued her meal. "Ora said there was blood on your hands… and that your fingers were broken."

Ginny momentarily considered saying 'I walked into a door', but the cliché faded with a mental snort. What she did manage wasn't much better. "I slipped," she said shortly, keeping her eyes and flushing cheeks hidden behind her hair.

"Slipped?" he questioned her suspiciously. "Well, aren't you a clumsy one?" he added after a long pause, returning his gaze to the paper. His eyes slipped upon the letters aimlessly, glancing now and then at Ginny.

When she showed no intentions of starting a conversation, Draco cleared his throat. "I see the fact that you're a Weasley did not deprive you of a sense of style," he said finally, glancing over her new attire.

Tightening her grip on her knife and her fosrk, she slammed them onto the table, making the plates shudder. "You are unbelievable," she breathed in irritation, standing up and storming out of the dining room, leaving her meal unfinished. She stomped into the living room, grabbing a book she read four times already and collapsing onto the right chair before the blazing hearth.

"What?" she heard Draco's voice carried into the living room as he followed her. "I paid you a blasted compliment!"

"Your definition of a compliment is twisted, Malfoy. That wasn't a compliment," she fired rapidly into her book. "Besides, you're the last person I would want to hear a 'compliment' from."

"Why?" he drawled casually, lowering him into his armchair.

"'Why?'" Ginny glared at him, slamming the book onto her lap. " I have to remind you of the verbal diarrhea you experienced at lunch? How can you even dare to look at me after what you've said?"

"Not as difficult as you might think, little weasel," he replied in a monotone.

"Your tongue should be ripped out for the things that you dare to say, Draco Malfoy. "

Draco smirked at her, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket an elf just carried in and a small jagged knife, starting to peel the apple again into a long green coil. "Be my guest, little weasel, rip away," he said, finishing with the peel and placing it absently onto the little table between the two armchairs.

Ginny's hand grabbed the peel and, just to spite him, started munching on it again, her lips fluttering around a silent muttering of a curse under her breath. Allowing her lips to curve into a smile, she tuck her wand back into her pocket and opened the book again, allowing her eyes to scan the familiar lines peacefully while her lips fondled with the sour-sweet apple peel.

Draco, not noticing the wand and the recent curse, quirked an eyebrow at Ginny and opened his mouth, drawling, "Eating leftovers again, Weasley?". Or at least he would have, if any sound had escaped his lips. His eyes narrowed in confusion and he glared daggers at Ginny, who was gritting her teeth against the apple peel and trying hard not to burst in laughter.

"What was it, Malfoy?" she asked innocently, averting her eyes from the book to look into his darkened silver orbs. "I didn't quite catch that."

Draco most probably tried to mouth some intricate cuss word, but it was to no avail. Ginny kept smiling at him. Finally, he narrowed his eyes menacingly into tiny angry slits and mouthed slowly, "Undo. Now!"

Sighing dejectedly, as if he was ruining all her fin, Ginny took out her wand and murmured the counter curse. "I got my wand back."

"So I've noticed." That was all he said before turning to the 'Daily Prophet' that he had brought from the dining hall.

This time Ginny couldn't stifle the giggle that escaped her lips and drew Draco's attention back to her.

He watched her intently while his fingers gripped the edges of the paper. He gazed at her as she finished the apple peel and as if he couldn't hold back any longer, leaned over his armrest towards her. "Okay, you have to tell me, Weasley - and by gods, control your temper, I am not out to get you - but, the peel… come on! Why are you eating the damn apple peel?"

Ginny glanced at him from the corner of her eye and shrugged. "Dad used to give me the apple peel when I was little. It usually involved an entire flourish ceremony of storytelling," she said simply, hoping he would not find it appropriate to belittle her sentimentality. "I guess I just like it."

Curiosity satisfied, he pursed his lips in a moment of contemplation and returned to his newspaper without saying a word.

Ginny returned to her book as well, but soon her mind was distracted by a flickering thought. "Malfoy, why aren't you sleeping? It's--" she glanced at the clock. "—half past two. Aren't you tired?"

"Why? Am I bothering you?" he purred in a mocking tone.

Ginny rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly. "The usual nag of your presence, but I'm getting used to it by now." After a pause and a glance toward him, she prodded further. "It's just-- most people sleep in this time of the night."

Draco tore his eyes from the 'Daily Prophet' lazily and looked at her for the longest moment before responding. "I don't sleep."

"You don't sleep," she echoed slowly. "Don't you get tired?"

Still looking at her, he smirked. "Apparently not," he said, lowering the paper and letting his eyes wander to the hearth. "Little sleep seems to be sufficient. Father was also that way."

Ginny allowed herself to study him closely, somehow knowing that his eyes won't leave the fire for a while. She decided to herself that he was an embodiment of the ancient Greek beauty. His eyes were the pure shade of silver with scarce white streak and long black lashes; he had a perfectly shaped nose; his platinum blonde locks were an almost exact color of his eyes and hung loosely, framing his features; his lips were an exquisite masterpiece of their own. Draco possessed the beauty of a marble god, Ginny admitted to herself. And a heart of an Ice King. She sighed solemnly and glanced at the fire as well.

"So," she dragged the word through the silence. "Do you know why you can't sleep? Maybe it's a sickness or something."

Draco eyes were glazed with the orange warmth and it took him a little while to part his lips and form a reply. "You have your familial characteristics – your hair, your temper – I have mine. Leave it"

Ginny raised an eyebrow and returned to her book, "Fine." She read for about two hours and when the book became unbearably familiar, she fell asleep in the comfy armchair, wondering how long was Draco going to stare into the blazing flames. And what other familial legacies he was burdened with to this day.


	6. Mikul Dracushor

**6 :: ****Mikul Dracushor**

Ginny sprang up into a sitting position, choking down the cry that threatened to escape her. Her heartbeat jolted, but soon began to lose of its virility as she rubbed her chest, consciously taking deep calming breaths. . Clutching the blanket beneath her for some measly grounding, she realized she was no longer in the armchair before the fireplace, but in her own bed at the small bedchamber. She was still clad in her clothes, which were now soaked in cold sweat, but her shoes were neatly placed near the bed and her hair was disentangle from the hairpins, which were piled on her nightstand. The house elves_,_ she decided.

She got out of the bed and headed for the bathroom, discarding her clothes and indulging herself with a hot shower. Her dreams were becoming more vivid and far more difficult with every passing night, making it hard not to wake up screaming. Last night's dream, as she recalled, detailed her struggle against someone who prevented her from jumping in front of the killing curse aimed at Harry. She fought and thrashed desperately, but still was not a much for her captor. So she was forced again to watch, to see the defeat and the death of the man she loved.

Ginny squeezed her eyes shot, dipping her head under the steaming stream, trying to wash away the dreamy cobwebs from her mind. Finally, once her muscles were revitalized by the almost scalding water, she stepped out and carefully toweled herself off. She had nowhere to hurry and by the sun peeking through the frosted window, she assumed it was somewhere around midday. Half the day was already wasted in sleep anyway. She dressed in her new clothes, the crisp fabric settling around her stiffly for the first time as all things unfamiliar, and headed downstairs. Malfoy was supposedly at work, so the meal schedule was hers to play around with. She asked the elves for a breakfast and settled in the dining room with the Malfoy's newspaper and a bowl of porridge strewn with fruits. Once she was finished, she dallied over the paper, having nowhere important to be, but soon a small presence caught her attention. One of the house elves hovered by her side and kept looking at her expectantly. She chanced a glance at it, but looked away, uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

Finally snapping, she turned to face it point blank and forced a smile. "Yes?"

"If Miss is done, Cilli will lead Miss into library," piped the elf.

Ginny frowned in confusion and looked at the little creature. "What library?"

"Master Draco's order," the elf hurried to explain. "To show the Miss into library and allow her to go there whenever she pleases"

Ginny's eyebrows arched at the gesture, quite taken aback by the… well, _niceness_ of it. _Niceness_ was not a part of Malfoy's vocabulary as far as she was concerned, and it actually unsettled her a bit to understand that he, indeed, did something nice. The closest he ever got to 'nice' was 'tolerable' and that was mostly when he kept his mouth shut, staring into the fireplace. Now he was allowing her access into the family library and she was probably obliged to act grateful. Well, bugger. She left the table and followed the elf down the winding corridors and labyrinth-like recesses of the manor. No wonder she could never find a thing in this place – the Minotaur would have lost his way around here.

When they finally reached the library, the elf opened the door for her and bowed its way out, leaving a gaping Ginny to stare at the massive chamber. Before her very eyes sprawled perhaps one of the vastest collection of printed books she had ever seen. Mazes upon mazes of bookshelves, spiral staircases leading up to the second and the third floors of the library, overstuffed armchairs strewn everywhere, and immense windows that allowed the dark wooden décor of the library to be bathed in golden glow. The scent of ancient tomes wafted around the room, broken only by a cool breeze  
from one of the slightly opened windows.

Ginny gulped hard, wondering whether this library was as big as the one at Hogwarts. Probably not, but to her criminally jaded mind, this chamber looked like heaven. Getting a grip on herself, Ginny finally took a step further and proceeded to explore. As she guessed, the library indeed was enormous and possessed colossal collection of volumes and manuscripts on any subject, genre or literature preference. It even contained a section of Muggle literature, to Ginny's utter shock. And of course most of the third floor was the expectedly substantial assortment of Dark Arts texts, which Ginny decided to steer clear of.

She gingerly picked a book from the Muggle classics section and chose herself a green armchair near the open window, making herself comfortable. Beyond the windowpane spread out the emerald planes of Malfoy grounds, which Ginny promised herself to explore as soon as the rain stops for a little while. She sank into the soft chair and opened the book, a smile crowning her content expression.

"Well, well! Never thought I'd see the day a Weasley would step into this library. Again."

Ginny jolted upright by the sound of the voice, scanning the place around her. She was alone, and a pointed sound of throat clearing drew her attention to the walls. Just behind her hung a portrait of a fair-haired, smirking man. She stood up and passed her armchair, approaching the painting and scanning the small metallic tablet beneath it – Sir Lynus Malfoy. Her eyes slipped up to his face, noting the familiar smirk and the patrician features. He was an almost exact replica of Lucius Malfoy, with the exception of his eyes, shining deep blue instead or the cruel gray.

"Stop gawking, lass!" the painting barked at her. "Have you no manners?"

Ginny frowned and pursed her lips into a displeased line. "I refuse to discuss etiquette with individuals who should know better than to startle people."

Stunned by the plucky respond, Sir Lynus arched an eyebrow, so perfectly performing the familial motion that had been elevated to a form of art. "Have I startled you, little one?" he asked, and she could feel the mocking ooze behind his concern.

Folding her arms across her chest, Ginny responded with open irony. "Yes, quite. I tend to get frightened by inanimate objects. The coffee table in the living room still gives me the most terrible case of heebie geebies."

The fair image curved its lips into a smile. "My, my, the lady has a tongue. How on earth did a nice girl like you master such sharpness?"

"Communicating with your… descendents, I presume."

"Draco?" he inquired briskly. "Indeed the boy had done a marvelous job, I have to admit. Honing one's wit is one of the greatest challenges a man of intellect would encounter in his life."

"Or a woman," Ginny injected pointedly, and dared him with her stare to disagree.

Sir Lynus smirked. "Of course. So, my grandson finally lured you into the den," said Sir Lynus cryptically.

Realizing the wizard meant Draco finally allowing her into the library, she nodded and pulled the armchair closer. Something told her this would develop into a conversation. "Yes, he finally stopped acting like a child."

The illustration barked with laughter. "Infantile behavior runs in the family, apparently. You weren't acquainted with his father! The imbecilic rat!"

Ginny felt her back stiffen against the backrest. "Unfortunately, I was acquainted with Lucius Malfoy, and I'm afraid his behavior never seemed 'infantile' to me. Hateful, vicious, soulless…"

Scanning Ginny's features carefully for a long moment, Lynus nodded slightly to himself. "Yes, my son was all of that. And then some." His eyes slid down for a moment and seem to darken in his silent reverie.

Ginny considered asking what had made Lucius the way he was, but decided against it quickly. Instead, seeing as the subject upset her conversant, she decided to change it into the first thing that popped into her mind. "So did you know Draco when he was a little?"

Lynus' face brightened and he smiled at her suddenly a small smile while his eyes gleamed oddly. "Knew him? I practically raised the brat!"

Ginny grinned at the uproar in the wizard's voice. "How was he?" she asked, propping her feet on the window seat next to the painting.

"Fast," replied Lynus. "He was the only three-year-old I ever knew who could outrun his grandfather."

Ginny giggled, imagining a small Malfoy running away from Sir Lynus on his little chubby legs. Somehow the thought of a child Draco and his chubby legs was enough to send her into a laughing feat.

"Also was a curious little bugger," Lynus continued, encouraged by Ginny's chuckles. "By the age of eight, he knew more secret passages around this Manor, than I know by now. And I lived here for more than half a century before I—" he stopped there, glancing behind his shoulder into the pastoral background. "Moved."

Ginny smiled tentatively, guessing it was strange to talk about one's death. Though the thought of Malfoy knowing secret passages around the house unsettled her, Ginny gave no sign of such emotion.

She spent the rest of the afternoon there, listening to Sir Lynus' numerous stories from Malfoy's childhood and his own life. Though Sir Lynus tried to keep his expressions impartial through the storytelling, Ginny could see his dark blue eyes glaze over once in a while as he remembered something. He kept his posture firm and features neutral, just like any other Malfoy Ginny knew; but he was somewhat different from his descendents, perhaps a tad more cordial, a bit more human.

He spoke easily about Draco's life in the Manor – about Lucius' total lack of interest in the boy, unless it was to scorn him; about Narcissa's undying affection and care for her son and his attachment as well; about the usual childish pranks he played on the house elves. When the timeline reached Draco's final years in Hogwarts and he spoke of those summer vacations at the Manor and how the elder wizard took the role of his grandson's confidant, Ginny noticed some strange roguish twinkle in the ancient wizard's eyes. He kept smirking and sniggering silently to himself, until Ginny couldn't take it anymore.

"What?" she demanded.

"Pardon me?" Sir Lynus responded coolly with a cocked eyebrow.

"You're snickering and giggling like a giddy school girl. Now I want to know why. "

"Miss Weasley, you're overstepping the lines of amiable conversation," he warned her strictly.

"I don't care, I want to know why you were giggling!" Ginny prodded further.

"I was _not_ giggling," Sir Lynus insisted, glancing at her down his nose.

"Alright then, not giggling. Now tell me why," she continued.

"'Why' what?" he asked in fake innocence.

"I begin to understand the whole 'infantile behavior throughout generations' bit you mentioned earlier," she quipped through tight lips. "Why were you snickering?"

"I do not believe I'm in any position to divulge that information." he said cryptically.

Ginny pouted in annoyance and folded her arms over her chest. "Fine, don't tell me. I'll find out anyway."

Another strange gleam flashed past his blue eyes as he smirked at her, nodding his head curtly. "I am sure you will."

Ginny glanced at him from the corner of her eye, knowing the wizard was hiding something, but realizing there was nothing she could do to squeeze it out of him. Though, for some reason, she had the feeling that she _will_, indeed, find out what was it that he preferred to conceal.

She remained in the library with Sir Lynus until the ancient grandfather clock proclaimed the time for Draco to return home with his flavor of the day. She parted with Sir Lynus, taking the forgotten book from the armchair, promised to drop by soon and headed to the dining hall, hoping to grab something to eat and go up to her bedchamber without an unnecessary encounter.

* * *

Without bothering to knock, Draco stepped into the office of Tomas Brooks, brusquely waving off the diffident secretary. Surveying the formal and impersonal décor, Draco could easily assert that the man was a Slytherin even if he hadn't known Tomas previously, which he did. Tomas Brooks was the eldest son of Victor Brooks, one of the Dark Lord's major supporters in his first reign and one of the Death Eaters who spied for Dumbledore after his second upsurge. Draco wasn't personally familiar with Tomas, but knew his father very well and was under the impression that Tomas was a younger replica. If so then, Draco's visit would be shorter than planned.

"Penny, I said no visitors," growled the black-haired editor over his papers.

"Very proficient. But she didn't really have a choice," drawled Draco, closing the door and approaching the desk.

Brooks lifted his head to meet Draco's cold gray eyes and rose to his feet, extending a curt hand. "Mr. Malfoy," he said with a slight inclination of his head.

"Mr. Brooks," Draco acknowledged in return. "How is your father?"

"As well as could be anticipated. His heart has weakened over the years, but the healers say it will be taken care of," replied Brooks.

"I'm glad to hear this. I hope he will feel better and would be able to leave the St. Mungo's soon," said Draco, nodding his head.

Brooks eyed him for a moment and beckoned him to sit down, before speaking. "Did we have an appointment?"

Draco took a seat on one of the chair in front of the desk. "No, not that I know of."

Brooks looked confused for a brief moment, but cleared his throat and sat down as well, leaning aback in his leather chair. He studied Draco for a silent minute before speaking again. "What is the reason for your visit?"

Draco paused and unnoticeably bit the inning of his cheek. _Gods, I can't believe I am doing this._ "I want the 'Daily Prophet' to publish an article about the company," he began calmly, feigning interest in the surrounding office. It was obviously what company he meant. "To tell the inside story of the company, so to speak. We had a bout of bad publicity as of lately, and I wish to do some damage control. Perhaps even give an interview."

The idea was brilliant, really – no other newspaper yet had been granted full access to the company's materials since Draco took change of it, and to dangle this opportunity before a journalist was equal to dangling a chunk of meat before a hungry dog. There was no way Brooks would deny him. And yes, Draco had never in his entire life felt so ridiculous and uneasy. He faced death a few times, faced his father even more often, but this situation was far worse than anything else. His features were the personification of indifference and composure, but inwardly Draco was  
quite unnerved.

Brooks barely managed to veil his interest behind that calm veneer, but Draco was too familiar with the signs. He cleared his throat and spoke in an artificially nonchalant manner. "Well, all right. I see no problem with that."

"Wonderful," drawled Draco with a certain note of finality, though he knew it wasn't over. "I want Mrs. Ginevra Potter to write the article, so if you could send her first thing tomorrow morning," he added matter-of-factly and stood up, heading for the door.

"I'm afraid–" Brooks hurried to inject before Draco reached the door. "—that Mrs. Potter does not work for this newspaper anymore. "

Draco paused at the rushed voice and turned back to see Brooks fidget with his fingers almost unnoticeably. "Oh? And I was under the impression that Mrs. Potter was one of your best known reporters."

Brooks seemed to stiffen slightly in his chair. "Yes, she was. But— she was fired recently. "

"Well, then I don't see a problem here. Just rehire her," Draco intoned casually.

Brooks cleared his throat once again.. "That is impossible."

Draco arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the statement. "Nothing is impossible, Mr. Brooks. Some just require greater pressure to relent," he added with an vague caveat in his voice.

Brooks' expression turned suddenly into a bleak mask, his green eyes flashing at the threat. Clutching his fingers behind his back as he rose to his feet, Brooks stared Draco straight in the eyes, matching that indifference with his own stubbornness. "This is not your decision, Mr. Malfoy. As an editor of this paper I have fired Mrs. Potter and my decision will not be reevaluated."

Draco smirked at the vehement editor. "I don't ask for explanations, Mr. Brooks. I'm just _telling_ you to change your decision," he said coldly, keeping his posture firmly. _If Brooks wants to play hardball, it is his funeral._

Brooks' eyes blazed again, though his expression was well trained to remain aloof. "You also cannot _tell_ me to change my decision. I do not own explanations about this to anyone but the owner"

Draco's smirk donned on an unpleasant twist of his mouth. "I can own this paper in less than an hour, Mr. Brooks. Let us not test each other. Rehire Miss Weasley ."

Brooks' eyes flashed something different as he shifted his posture slightly into a less defensive stance. "Miss Weasley?" he echoed inquisitively. "Why this sudden interest in _Mrs. Potter_'s journalistic talents, Mr. Malfoy?"

_Damn__._ "The interest is my wish for the best journalist to write about my corporation. I cannot afford an amateur ruining a promotional article with lack of style. And… Mrs. Potter _is_ your best journalist. I want her to write the piece," clarified Draco with just the right amount of impatience and irritation in his voice to garner obedience.

Brooks nodded, but when he spoke to Draco, his words were final. "I understand your desire for the best, Mr. Malfoy," he started formally. "But I _cannot_ rehire Mrs. Potter."

Gray eyes narrowed in concealed suspicion as Draco studied Brooks' features carefully. _Cannot?_ His eyes bore into the editor's. _There is no such thing for a Slytherin._ He remained silent for a long while, trying to read Brooks' shuttered expression. There was something strange in his eyes, something important to see, but too rapid for him to comprehend. Draco stood his ground, watching the man before him doing the same. Wordless war was unwinding between the two Slytherins as the gray eyes battled the green. _Green…_

"I have seen Harry Potter exiting the 'Daily Prophet's editorial a few days ago. I did not know Aurors now willingly conduct business with the press."

This unexpected and irrelevant remark brought Brooks' fingers into another fidgeting feat. He clutched both hands together tightly and matched Draco's stare, though his glare now were cracked and the intensity was broken. "I'm afraid I do not recall a visit from… Mr. Potter," he obviously lied.

"Really?" Draco inquired wryly. "Your secretary was under the impression that you two had some sort of a heated argument," he added, lying through his teeth. He had not spoken to the secretary at all, but guessing by the another crack in Brooks' expression, he was pretty close. "Yes, an argument… concerning Mrs. Potter?" His voice almost deemed a question as he shot in the dark and had absolutely no idea where he was headed. _Perhaps, _Draco mused to himself, shaping the first notion that came to his mind. _Potter must've thought that Brooks would know about Ginny's whereabouts. Maybe he thought she was cheating on him with Brooks. Maybe she was._

This thought made Draco scowled.

Brooks' exterior broke down completely as he sank into his black chair, shielding his face with his hands. Despair wafted from him in heavy waves and Draco deemed in horror to hear the older man sob. He drew out his wand, casting a silence shield around the office; the employees didn't need to hear their superior – _Gods, please don't let it be – _cry.

"I had no choice, Malfoy," Brooks said suddenly, casting away the formality like a dirty washcloth. He lifted his head up to face Draco's stare and Draco was relieved to see no tears brim those eyes. They were, however, veiled with deep shame and misery. "You would've done the same if he threatened your mother."

Draco's back became rigid instantly. A thought began to shape itself, its unpleasant form coiling and twisting like a snake in the shadows of his mind. "What are you talking about, Brooks?" he demanded firmly.

"Potter!" exclaimed Brooks. "The ingrate dared threatening me to frame my father for shielding fugitive Death Eaters if I refused to fire Ginny." Seeing the visible surprise and outrage in Draco's eyes, Brooks realized that he had spoken too much.

Draco became deadly still, hearing Brooks speak about Potter's threat. His fists were clenched tightly and the cold composure was too close to exploding. _Potter made Brooks fire her? Potter? _

Rage bursting forth, he had to fight himself for everything he was worth not to slam the desk and curse like a schoolboy. Reining himself in for the meantime, Draco clenched his jaws and made a show of clasping his hands behind his back. Taking a deep breath, he then spoke to Brooks calmly, evenly, his voice not rising in volume. Composure was his ruler. "I see. Well, this indeed takes care of our problem. Rehire Mrs. Potter immediately and I will personally make sure that your father will not be harmed."

Brooks was shaking his head when Draco leveled him with a cold stare. "I cannot. I cannot! That runt—"

"Can do no harm," Draco injected piercingly, his eyes growing colder. "Neither to you, nor your father." He held the stare of the other Slytherin and fought to suppress the rage within him. He felt his head swim for a moment, but there was still resistance in Brooks' expression and Draco could not bear the sight of that for much longer. Glaring the other man down, he seemed to tower over the desk. "I on the other hand…"

The short flicker in Brooks' eyes told him he had won this battle. Sparing him a curt nod, Draco then stormed out of the office and out of the building before he began to lose his poise.

When he reached the evening-quiet Diagon Alley, Draco barely comprehended that his hands were shaking with anger. His mind seethed with some raw emotion as he tried to apprehend the new information. Harry Potter, the bloody Boy Who Lived, was not only an abusive husband, but also a manipulative son of a bitch! Draco stomped down the streets, his head reeling with all the excruciating pain he wanted to inflict on Potter. He could feel hatred boiling through his veins like poisonous venom.

Pictures of yesterday's afternoon, when he saw a petrified Ginny appear from nowhere and run away from an enraged Harry Potter, flooded his mind. The moment he saw the horror deep in her eyes, he turned to follow her, but couldn't snake his way through the overcrowded streets. And then he returned to find Potter still standing in the same place, his face and glasses stained with the blood oozing from his apparently broken nose. His eyes seemed to glow red as he watched the direction Ginny disappeared to and Draco had to muster all his will not to draw his wand with retribution on his mind. He knew that Potter would understand if he decided to attack him right then. So he waited patiently until Potter escaped the gathering crowds staring at his nose, and went over to take the bags before leaving.

The image of purple bruises on Ginny's face was still burned into his mind and every time he remembered it, he couldn't stop the small recoil in his stomach. It felt like he was five-years-old again, looking at his own mother trying to hide the blue marks from him. He hated this feeling of helplessness that brought forward the weakling in him, the side he was sure was erased from his soul forever. But now it had returned when he looked at Ginny, whenever he heard her toss and turn in her chamber from the nightmares that refused to let her go.

Draco wasn't able to prevent the horrible dreams too, no matter what he tried. He ordered the elves to add soothing potions into her dinners; he warded her chamber against dreamlings and nightmares; he tried to wake her up once, but the dreams clung to her like fevered babes to the breast of their mother. And when the previous night he laid Ginny onto her bed after carrying her tired form from the living room, he had this almost uncontrollable urge to stay by her side and maybe fight her dreams himself.

Draco sighed silently, raking tired fingers through his hair and feeling his tremors subside. He couldn't quite remember when he first began to notice the youngest Weasley – whether it was when she retorted to him and managed to say the last word in their verbal quarrels in Hogwarts; or was it when he discovered she was the one to open the Chamber of Secrets in his second year, interacted with Tom Riddle, and survived to tell the tale; or was it when she fought Death Eaters in the final battle, and though her leg was broken, she continued to hex and curse any opponent she laid her eyes on.

Draco respected Ginny and considered her as a fighter and an equal. But when he saw her petite figure tumble onto the ground _that_ night, covered in bruises and blood, he knew than that she needed protection as well. More than that - she needed _his_ protection. Again.

Draco tightened the robes around him and, only now realizing where he was, changed his course and headed home.

* * *

Ginny was on the way to her bedchamber when she heard the entrance door slam shut behind a storming Malfoy. Not wishing to come face to face with Draco's new conquest, Ginny quickened her pace up the stairs until she was taking two steps at a time. But hearing a flow of obscenities and no drunken giggles made her pause. She turned around to see a brisk flash of silver head disappear into the living room alone. Contemplating the decision only for a short moment, she changed her course and hurried after him. Noticing the outline of his light hair near the fireplace, she walked over and sat down on the armchair next to his, watching him tentatively.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he barked, his eyes locked on the fire once again.

"It was scientifically proven a few years back that 'nothing' can't cause hissy feats," she replied dryly, frowning at his sharp impatience with her. Oddly, she realized, she had gotten used to his brand of politeness, which rarely involved barking.

Draco tore his gaze abruptly from the fire and glared at her. His gray was seething with visible fury and his face contorted suddenly into a vile sneer. "This is not a hissy feat, and you are _not_ welcomed to inquire into my business," he hissed, for some reason directing his anger at her. "Go hide in your room away from my corrupting Malfoy influence. God forbid the little Weasley princess will be forced to endure the company of the Evil Incarnate, spawn of Satan himself, manifestation of all that's rotten in this world!"

Ginny eyes widened in surprise at his outburst. "What on earth are you babbling about?"

"Nothing," he barked again, grabbing an apple from the tray a little house elf just brought in. Clutching the knife from the table, he started peeling it. It seemed that rage and wrath had seeped into his fingers as they started fidgeting slightly, breaking the coil of the apple peel into numerous pieces. Irritated, he tore off chunks of it and tossed them onto the table to be picked up by Ginny, half-mindedly expecting her to help herself to it just like in previous times.

She, however, gave the apple peels a glance, and quickly turned her attention back to him. "Draco, there are two ways to do this – either you talk, or I force you to. Now which is it going to be?"

Ginny blinked at her own words, slight scarlet blush gracing her cheeks. _Oh Merlin! Did you just call him 'Draco'? _

Draco tore his eyes from the hearth and looked at her, his eyebrows arched in surprise. Chewing the apple wordlessly, he stared at her in silence, perhaps trying to unnerve her. But the more he looked, the calmer his posture became and Ginny did not allow herself to break the eye contact. Eventually, he did it himself, glancing at the apple peels. "Not in the mood for childhood memories?"

Quickly changing her whole composure, Ginny sank deeper into the armchair and cast the scattered piece another look, scrunching her nose up. "I don't like the bits. Just the whole coil."

Draco accepted her answer, eyeing the house elf that bowed its way into the living room and offered a roll of parchment to Ginny. She cocked an eyebrow, taking the parchment from the elf's tiny hands and thanking him as he scurried away. Unrolling the scroll, Ginny looked even more stunt to read its content.

.

_You're rehired__. See me tomorrow morning. _

_Brooks__. _

.

"What is it?" Draco inquired indifferently over his copy of 'Daily Prophet', breaking her out of her astonishment.

"Huh? Oh, I'm… rehired," Ginny replied, frowning in confusion. _He was stubborn as a mule yesterday… and now he caves in? Just like that?_

"I thought your editor refused."

"I did too," mumbled Ginny. "I guess he realized what an amazing asset I am to the paper and that he couldn't afford to let me go," she added in fake haughtiness, folding the parchment and tucking it into the pages of her book. _This is almost not right. _

Draco smirked at the tone of her voice and returned to his paper. "I see you've visited the library. I hope it was enough  
to relieve your boredom."

"Oh, yes," she suddenly smiled slyly, stroking the spine of her book as her concerns about Brooks faded beneath amusement. "I wanted to thank you… Mikul Dracushor."

Ginny watched closely as Draco's posture abruptly became rigid as he slowly lowered his newspaper, his eyes narrowed into tiny slits and fixated on her smiling face. She saw him clench his jaws and grip the frail pages tightly, crumpling them. Ginny could actually see him mentally kicking himself. She batted her long eyelashes innocently at him, smiling sweetly when his lips twisted into a scowl.

"_Kibit!"_ Draco roared all of a sudden, his glare darting to the little entrance for the house elves.

A timid creature hurried into the living room, bowing deeply and brushing the floor with his ears. "M—master?"

"Have you removed Sir Lynus' portrait from the library before showing Miss Weasley in?" Draco hissed forebodingly, boring his eyes into the quivering elf.

"Uh… we— we tried, Master Draco! But… but Sir Lynus… he— he— kept–" Kibit wailed suddenly, throwing his tiny body to the nearest wall, and started to bash his head against it.

Ginny yelped in surprise and rushed to the house elf, trying to haul him away from the wall. "It's okay, Kibit! You've done nothing wrong!"

The elf continued to wriggle from her grip, every time he succeeded, smacking himself as hard as he could against some furniture.

"No! Wait-- stop! Stop! Malfoy!" Ginny called to the indifferent man who watched her chase the house elf around the living room, trying to prevent him from hurting himself. "Make him stop!"

Draco grunted irritably and dismissed the house elf with a wave of his hand.

"So you've met my grandfather."

Ginny huffed, seating herself back onto the armchair and patting down her disheveled hair.. "Yes," she smiled at him chirpily. "And we had the loveliest conversation I ever had with a Malfoy."

"About my childhood pet names," Draco glared at her.

"Not just, Dracushor." Ginny burst into a fit of giggles at the scowl on his face. From the corner of her eye, she could see him throwing her murderous looks. The moniker 'Mikul Dracushor' meant 'Little Devil' in Romanian, and was Draco's only souvenir from his great-great-aunt whom he had seen once when the Malfoys had visited their family back in his childhood. His mother adored the name and adopted it, and it had haunted him ever since.

Ginny knew why. It sounded absolutely ridiculous and adorable, and yet somehow summarized him so well that she just couldn't hold herself together, seeing Draco's expression.

"So what else you talked about?" Draco demanded softly, his voice laced with apprehensive iron.

"You and your chubby legs," squeaked Ginny amid giggles, plunging into another uncontrollable feat immediately.

"I'll burn that damn painting," Draco murmured exasperatedly, raking his fingers through his hair, making Ginny laugh even louder and at some point wriggling right out of her armchair and onto the floor. Not that it bothered her in any way; she continued laughing until she no longer had the air.

Draco watched her wordlessly for a while, waiting patiently until she calmed down. When she did, he leaned in, his mouth twisted viciously. "If you speak word of what you heard from my grandfather to anyone, I will make sure you pay dearly," he said evenly, his voice ominous.

Ginny listened silently, her expression deadly serious. It lasted for all of ten second, before her lips cracked into a grin. "I'm sorry, Malfoy, but I know you took ballet lessons and I've seen the pictures from your recical. You can't unnerve me anymore."

Draco was still for a long while, scanning her grinning and jovial self. Suddenly the silver in his eyes darkened and he leaned even closer to her, thus closing the space between them until their noses nearly touched. "Don't tempt me."

In this split of a moment, the air had changed. Oxygen flittered away and Ginny became suddenly away of how interesting it was to stare up into Draco's eyes from such a close and dangerous distance. Something sizzled between them and she became aware of her position – at his house, at his feet, at his mercy.

Eyes subtly wide, she inched away and dragged her eyes to stare at the carpet. "I didn't," she replied plainly, and moved away from him, the jubilant air between them gone. She didn't leave though, but crawled back into the armchair instead and opened her book.

She didn't manage to read through a single page for the entire evening, though. She kept turning the leafs, hoping to find a scene that would fascinate her enough to draw her from the fact that Malfoy was now watching her instead of the fire.


	7. A Biscuit, a Bacon, a Black Haired Man

**7 :: A Biscuit, a Bacon, and a Black-Haired Man**

.

Heart hammering savagely against her ribs, Ginny sprang upright. Clutching the sheets beneath her and breathing raggedly with eyes wide open, she scanned the bedchamber anxiously, ignoring the cold sweat trickling down her forehead as she searched for any sign of danger. Remnants of her nightmare gnawed at her, trying to claw their way into her conscious mind and terrorize her wakeful self as well. She could still hear his insane voice, maddening her with the sound of her own name reverberating through her mind, threatening to burst out of her skull and unleash its' malice fully. "_Ginevra_…"

She stared at the windows, an almost full moon glowing peacefully through the transparent pane, bathing the desk beneath the window in silver luminance. Glancing at the grandfather clock that informed her it was about three o'clock, she grimaced in exasperation and took deep, soothing breaths in an attempt to calm herself. Soon her heart returned to its' natural pace and her breathing slowed. _Just another nightmare,_ she thought to herself grimly. _Another. . . _

Ginny closed her eyes, murmured something under her breath and slowly climbed out of bed. The white sheets did not seem comfortable and the thought of trying to fall asleep again was not a welcomed one. Dragging the burgundy coverlet from the bed, she wrapped it around herself, tightening it against the brisk chill in the air and headed out of the chamber. As she descended the stone staircase leading into the foyer, the walls radiated a bitter coldness that penetrated the velvet quilt around her, making her shiver slightly and quicken her pace into the living room.

Pausing at the threshold she was not surprised to see Draco still up as he turned and glanced at her from the armchair. Receiving nothing more than a quick appraisal of her improvised garment, Ginny waddled to the armchair beside his - now secretly considered as 'hers' - and slumped down, snuggling in front of the blazing fire. Reaching out her hands to the flames to warm up, she caught Draco's silent attention and was startled when he raised his voice slightly.

"Kibit!" The name reverberated through the cold stonewalls and a small house elf scurried into the room.

"Yes, Master Draco?"

"Bring Miss Weasley some blankets and a cup of tea. There was supposed to be some biscuits left after the dinner, bring those too," Draco drawled out absentmindedly, dismissing the elf with a wave of his hand.

Ginny gazed at him for a long time, her expression mildly surprised. "Thank you," she mumbled as he tore his eyes from the fireplace and glanced over.

He waved at her dismissively as well before turning back to the fire, as if she was but another house elf, and all Ginny's warm gratitude dulled.

She rubbed her hands together to ward the cold, sinking deeper into her chair and stifled a yawn just as the small elf returned carrying two blankets twice his size. She relieved him of his burden and wrapped herself tightly with the soft warmth before plopping back into the chair, scanning the quilts' patterns of delicate dark blue roses strewn about. She watched as the elf wheeled a trolley in with two cups of tea and some biscuits, then placed everything carefully on the table between the two armchairs and left the room.

Picking up a cup of tea, Ginny laced her fingers around it and gazed into the fireplace, observing the rippling tongues that hissed and crackled with pleasure. Her eyes grew warm from the distant contact and she took a sip from her tea, without moving her gaze from the fire. Not for the first time she wondered what was in the hearth that kept Draco so captivated, so engulfed in the heated dance. _Does he spend all his nights in here staring at the fire? Is this why he doesn't sleep?_

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

His unexpected voice ripped through her musing and she turned to find Draco's gray eyes boring into hers, searching for something. The sudden question ambushed her and she found herself grappling for words, not quite wishing to tell him she was driven from her warm bed by a recurring nightmare.

But nothing came to mind and she resigned herself to the truth. "I had a nightmare."

The silver in his eyes darkened instantly. She noticed his jaw quirk imperceptibly and he looked into the fireplace once again, his icy gaze glinting warmly while the fire reflected in them. "Must have been some nightmare."

Ginny gazed at him, her eyes narrowed as she tried to untangle the mystery that he was. She could not figure Draco Malfoy out and that fact was starting to get on her nerves. He was so easy to read and understand in Hogwarts - smug, spoilt, cowardice brat whose rich father possessed just about everything and mostly anyone, and was the Dark Lord's closest supporter. It was so logical to believe that Draco was as evil and as heartless as his father, that he would follow Lucius' footsteps becoming a Death Eater, and therefore would eventually position himself beyond the red line that divided '_them_' from '_the enemy_'.

_But not everything was meant to be simple or logical,_ Ginny thought to herself, continuing to look at him, wondering whether he noticed her stare and preferred to ignore it. As a matter of fact everything got very complicated when Ginny discovered Draco was the one responsible for her father's escape from the Death Eaters, that he has been spying for the past two years in his own fathers' circles for Dumbledore and was actually risking his own life for the sake of— _Whom? Dumbledore? Muggles? Muggle-born wizards and witches? Why on earth would this spoilt brat risk his own life for the sake of anyone else? _

Everything wasn't as simple as it was suppose to be. Suddenly Draco no longer was no longer securely placed behind the red enemy line and was now occupying a position among those he once spent endless time making fun of, protecting those he openly swore to despise. What logic or simplicity was there in such a thing?

_  
And now__,_ Ginny thought to herself, stifling another demanding yawn and sinking deeper into the soft fabric of the blankets. _I'm living in Malfoy Manor and oddly enough, starting to consider Malfoy as—_ Her gaze wandered back to him, watching his pallid features glow in a subtle golden radiance. Allowing herself to smile, she shook her head and took a sip of her tea. _Human. _

"Stop gawking, Miss Weasley, it is most inappropriate," he drawled suddenly, his low voice seemed to jolt the room out of its stillness.

Narrowing her eyes into a brief glare, she turned to look into the fireplace. _Smug bastard,_ she thought to herself, shaking her head with a small smile. Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw him finally place his full attention on her, so she glanced at him sideways.

"Yes?" he drawled when she remained silent.

Innocence marred her face like a mask. "What?"

"You were in deep contemplation of my person. I am interested in your conclusions. "

She smirked at him, taking a sip from her tea. "How dreadfully arrogant. You cannot possibly be certain of that. "

"Ah, but I am, look at that," he countered, his voice mockingly playful. "Magic."

Laughing, Ginny shook her head once again. "Whatever's going on in my head, Malfoy, stays there."

"Really? I believe I rather remember an awful blabbermouth back from Hogwarts days," he jibed. "Gossipy little whelp too. No wonder you became a journalist, but I still cannot fathom how you manage to keep your stories secret before their publishing."

"Har bloody har." She scowled good naturedly in response. "I was not a gossip. I simply had an inquisitive mind."

"I believe I once caught you hiding in the bushes on one of my rounds, eavesdropping. The image is so vivid because you had camouflage paint all over your face, Weasley."

Ginny's eyes widened with horror. She had forgotten all about that episode. There was a rumor back then that Cormac McLaggen was selling inebriating potions to the First Years and she was crazily adamant on unveiling his entire hideous operation. Of course in the end it turned out that his mother had secretly smuggled loads of extremely rare and delicious chocolate for him and he was trying to get rid of it before he lost his figure. The encounter with Malfoy was short and inconsequential, resulting in just a week of snide remarks that never left a lasting impression.

"I was doing research," she finally defended herself feebly.

The expression on her face – the haughty tilt to her chin and the righteous pinch of her lips – was apparently enough to fracture his icy exterior as his lips quirked almost involuntarily into a full-blown grin. His chest quivered slightly as he repressed the feat of laughter that threatened to erupt from him and the silver in his eyes sparked with satisfaction that she had never seen in them.

Ginny scowled at his jubilant expression and drew the covers closer around herself.

"Prat."

He laughed harder. And as the atmosphere changed, Ginny noticed a subtle strangeness about it. _I had never heard him laugh before. Cackle, snicker… evilly at that! _She glanced at him in time to see him settle down. His features still contained that imperceptible fracture, so his appearance did not seem as icy and detached as before, but was composed enough for Draco to remain himself. He seemed calm and content in the orange blaze of the hearth in front of them, his eyes for the first time not glazing over as he watched the fire.

"Laughter suits you," she said suddenly, surprising not only him.

He raised a perfectly shaped brow at her, smirking in the process. "Weasley, are you going soft on me?"

"Shut up, Ferret," she huffed, throwing a biscuit at him. His former Seeker reflexes seemed to be as honed as ever, because he caught it effortlessly without tearing his eyes from her, which made her all the more miffed. "Ugh, you're insufferable!"

Draco chuckled, and bit into the piece of bread. "Much better. Don't think I could've endured it if you'd decide to adopt me as a stray pet."

She shot him a piercing glare over the rim of her teacup and leaned her head on the backrest. Stupid, arrogant, little bastard. All right, so perhaps not that little anymore. Or stupid for that matter. Or a bastard, if you wished to be technical. But still!

Soon her eyelids became heavy and her yawning more consistent. She finally gave in an hour later, bidding Draco goodnight before going back up to her bedchamber and falling onto her four-poster, fast asleep long before her head hit the pillow.

.

* * *

.

Ginny entered the 'Leaky Cauldron', a smile gracing her face as Hermione followed her out of the cold streets. Warmth shrouded them caringly, such a contrast to the spearing cold in the Diagon Alley. Taking in the sudden change in the air, they removed their gloves, greeting acquaintances on their way to a table. The pub was overfilled with loud yet jovial conversations as wizards and witches exchanged pleasantries over mugs of hot butterbeer, cold pumpkin juice or warm mead. Here and there, in more quiet areas, people sat around small tables consuming delicious everyday delicacies Tom - the owner of this establishment - was known for. It was at one of those small tables where Ginny and Hermione finally settled down after they managed to make their way through the packed inn.

Quickly enough Tom appeared by the side of their table, giving them a great toothless smile. "Hi there, girls! My, how you have grown! It seems like only this morning you've passed through this place on your way to buy Hogwarts supplies… and now look at you!" he exclaimed delightedly motioning with both of his hands at Hermione's round stomach that was very visible now that she discarded her cloak.

"What did you expect, Tom? Can't stay in Hogwarts forever," commented Ginny, removing her cloak as well while Hermione laughed.

"Oh no, no," he dismissed the notion with a wave of his hands. "It's just good to see you well and–" His eyes wandered to Hermione's belly once more and he gave out a bark of laughter. "—and growing! Ha! Okay, let's see - double bacon sandwich, scrambled eggs with tomatoes and pastrami and couple of butterbeers, am I right?"

Hermione nodded her head, smiling widely at the pleasant taverner.

Tom laughed, tapping a finger on his forehead. "Never forget an order, I tell ya. Okay, then. Coming right up!" He gave them both a wink and disappeared back into the crowds on his way to the kitchen behind the counter.

Ginny smiled at Hermione, shaking her head slightly. "He hasn't changed one bit."

"No, he hasn't," Hermione agreed, scanning the people around them.

Ginny glanced at her best friend and saw concern edging her soulful brown eyes that were deliberately scanning the room so she wouldn't have to meet Ginny's questioning stare. Ginny was glad she'd accepted Hermione's lunch invitation this day; it had been too long since she'd seen her and she missed her friend terribly.

This morning Ginny awoken considerably early to find Pig, her brother's hyperactive owl, knocking on her window. After finally being able to untie a small roll of parchment from his little twitchy legs – a process which involved a _Stupefy_ spell since she could not catch him otherwise – she revealed a note from Hermione, saying she would be in the Diagon Alley later on today and she wondered if it could be possible to meet up. Ginny replied immediately, agreeing with great pleasure.

After an uneventful breakfast, Ginny headed to the Diagon Alley and the _Daily Prophet_'s offices, where she had to meet Tomas Brooks. Tomas acted odder than usual and was brief and brusque with his words, overpowered by the constant flow of endless papers he had to take care of himself, since his secretary had taken a sick day. All she managed to understand from his aggravated tone as he threw almost hostile looks at her was that she was rehired – but no reasoning for that was given – and that her next assignment would be an in-depth article about 'Malfoy Inc.'.

Her first day, thus far, was spent tying some loose ends remaining after she was fired – reorganizing her office, contacting her informants, checking the datebook she remembered leaving in the office only when her eyes happened upon it, and other small semi-important details. Her colleagues congratulated her on getting her job back, saying how much she had been missed, and how they were glad Brooks regained his senses before it was too late. Ginny accepted the compliments with a beaming smile, but was all too happy to break her way out of the building by lunch, to meet with her best friend.

And now sitting across her friend who was still consciously avoiding eye contact, Ginny knew there was something Hermione wanted to talk about and she feared she knew exactly what.

"Hermione, keep your eyes on one spot. You're starting to remind me of Mad-Eye Moody. "

Finally focusing her gaze on Ginny, Hermione gave a small smile. "How have you been?" she asked almost solemnly.

Ginny's eyes slipped to her hands and she spoke halfheartedly, starting to pick her nails. "I'm… all right, I guess."

"Gin, come on. I'm your best friend. 'All right, I guess' isn't a good enough answer," Hermione countered gently.

"But it is the only one I can give to this question. I truly am all right," said Ginny, smiling to Tom as he placed their order on the table in front of them.

"How are you handling Malfoy? He hasn't been totally unbearable I hope," she asked, picked up one of her bacon sandwiches.

"Oh, no." Ginny shook her head while picking up a fork. "He has been as bearable as he can be. And on some occasions his behavior could've even be considered cordial. "

Hermione's expression reflected her skepticism. "We _are_ talking about Draco Malfoy, right? The blond conceited, spoilt, evil prat we attended Hogwarts with."

"Yes, we are," Ginny assured her, digging into her eggs.

"And Malfoy has been acting nice?" Hermione probed further with doubt clearly heard in her voice.

"Don't overstate it. He's been—" she paused, looking for the right word. " –civil, as hard as that might be to believe," she added quickly to her friend's sake.

"It is not hard to believe, Gin. It borders impossible," Hermione said, still quite shocked by the revelation.

"Don't exaggerate it, Hermione! It is not impossible for Malfoy to be— well, human," said Ginny in response, surprising herself by defending Draco. "He did fight on our side in the war." She ignored the sudden sharp looks she received from the diners beside them at the mention of war. "And he did save my Dad."

Hermione looked startled when she realized Ginny's stance. For a moment she looked unsettled, but then quickly regained herself, as she always did so well.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. I just wouldn't trust him completely if I were you. You just… never know."

"That's okay, I won't." Ginny smiled at Hermione, who hesitantly returned her own smile. Of course if Ginny had taken a moment to ponder this statement, she would've discovered that it wasn't as truthful as it sounded. "So how are you? How's the baby?"

"Oh, don't ask!" Hermione exclaimed, pausing to order another double sandwich after finishing the previous. "It doesn't seem like it's planning on coming out any time soon! And I don't think I'll be able to carry these extra pounds for much longer. My back is killing me, my ankles are swollen and I can't stop eating! Of course the eating part pleases Mrs. Weasley to no end, and Ron is very generous with the massages. "-

Ginny snorted out a short laugh as Hermione wriggled her eyebrows suggestively. -

"I should consider charging rent. Per hour!"

Ginny laughed out loud as another plate was placed in front of Hermione and she picked up the sandwich.

"Yes, Ginny. Laugh at the poor fat incubator. We'll see how you cope—" She paused abruptly, stopping herself before she could say something else she intended to say.

The two friends spoke enthusiastically as they finished their meals, laughing heartily through the conversation and conveniently avoiding any subject that was linked to Ginny's situation with Harry.

Finally, when they settled down after another uncontrollable feat of giggles, Hermione heaved a sigh. "Anyway, we finally received an owl from Bill and he said he and the family will visit this weekend. The twins also said something about stopping by and your Mum obviously decided to blow the whole thing out of proportion. So," she breathed heavily, her face etched with subtle lines of despair. "I hereby invite you to the Weasley Family Epic Reunion this weekend. And by epic, I mean colossal. The owls had infested the Burrow from all over the country and the world, and I do believe I had seen one from Aunt Muriel also." Hermione was referring to the one-hundred-and-forty-five-year-old aunt who had lived most of Ginny's life in seclusion and rarely accepted an invitation. This meant Mrs. Weasley was talking business.

«I'll be there," Ginny assured her without a second thought, before a notion bright her up short. "Oh, umm—"

"Harry is not invited," Hermione provided abruptly.

Ginny glanced up from her plate immediately to find a pair of chocolate eyes boring into her. Hermione's expression was unreadable, a fact that unsettled Ginny a bit and made her stomach clench strangely. She held Hermione's stare without flinching, waiting for her to blink first or avert her concentration. Her best friend was dear to her heart, but she had never allowed herself to cave under anyone's stare. Finally Hermione blinked, loosening the intensity of the moment as she rubbed her face tiredly. She let her hands drop onto the table and looked at Ginny, her eyes reflecting concern, exhaustion and a pinch of frustration.

"I spoke to Harry yesterday," she stated frankly. "He's been slacking off on the job, unable to concentrate or do anything for matter. He hasn't slept for the past four days and was on a brink of tears when I saw him. He misses you, wants you back—"

"Hermione, don't," Ginny said suddenly, holding up her hand. "Don't try. Don't— just don't. "

"He says—"

"I don't want to know, Hermione," she cut her off, a bit louder than she intended. Ginny tore her gaze from her best friend and looked down to her hands. "I kept my distance from him, so I could think. But every time I try to think about the situation, my mind refuses, focusing my attention on something else." Ginny sighed, scratching her forehead. "A part of my brain says I should return home and forget it ever happened." She paused, seeing something flash through Hermione's eyes, but gave it no meaning. "And the other part… makes me want to run away and hide from him."

"You're confused," Hermione stated meaninglessly.

"Yes, I am," agreed Ginny. "In a way. But one thing remains even when I think I begin to see things clearly." Her voice drifted off as she heaved up a sleeve of her shirt, revealing four morbidly delicate bracelets gleaming in a vague violet hue around her arm.

Hermione fell silent, her eyes scanning the still-purple bruises tentatively, as if afraid of causing Ginny pain with her stare. It was undeniable – the mauve marks, though softer than before, were still clearly visible to her. Finally looking away as the sight became somewhat unbearable, she gulped hard and her face paled to a sickly ashen shade.

Ginny glanced at her and returned her eyes to the sleeve, heaving it back down."Are you okay?" she asked hopefully, praying Hermione would snap out of it.

"What? Oh, yes, yes, of course I am. It's just—" Her gaze drifted away and for a moment became glazed as horrid images played in her mind.

Ginny closed her eyes, sighing tenderly and slightly shaking her head. When the lunch was over and they parted, she couldn't help but be haunted by the notion that Hermione wished to deny everything, wished that things were as simply and good as they had been before. Ginny shouldn't have shown her the bruises. It upset her too much. Perhaps it was better not to confide in Hermione about this anymore. Ginny could never forgive herself if the stress somehow caused problems with the delicate physical state the other witch was concerning the baby.

.

* * *

.

Ginny rubbed her eyes tiredly, releasing a yawn that had threatened to overpower her for nearly an hour. Stretching to free the cricks in her neck, she yawned once again. Collecting various papers from all over her desk and placing them neatly in a blue paper-folder she slowly stood up, shaking her numb legs and picked up the folder. Grabbing her cloak from her chair and turning off the lights in her office, she made her way out. Pausing at the door with the metallic sign "Tomas Brooks; Editor" she turned the knob and opened the door to discover an empty office. Walking into the shadowy room, she noticed the open windows allowed enough white light to filter through for her to see the desk. Placing the blue folder on the desk on top of other similar folders Ginny took a moment to pull on her cloak.

She had stayed late today and managed to finish the article she had intended to submit before she left. With the article now securely tucked in the folder on Brooks' table, she smiled. At this moment, if only for this moment, everything was right and in its place. She never noticed how much this job meant to her until it was taken away. The sight of a completed story quenched a strange sense of thirst she hadn't felt anywhere else. The smell of dried ink on yellowing parchment made her giddy with excitement and the empty office this late in the evening was a simple and quiet haven.

Raking her hands through her fiery hair she stepped out of the office closing the door behind her and smiling warmly at the guard who stayed overnight. Humming a soft tune she opened the door to the chilly isolated streets of late night Diagon Alley and skipped down the first few stairs.

Stopping suddenly she felt as though her smile had been slapped from her face when her eyes landed on a raven-haired man standing at the bottom of the stairs, wand in hand and green eyes blazing with something that could be only described as malice.


	8. Stupefy!

**Disclaimer:** Okay, I always forget about these things. Listen up, this is NOT MINE! I'm just using the characters for my own twisted pleasure. Dance, puppets, _dance!_

**Author's Notes:** Yes, yes, I know? I should be stoned, burned at the stake and be fed to hungry piranhas for not updating this piece sooner. But people? I have no excuses.

Well maybe I do, see... I'm a Gemini and we Geminis have a tendency of getting bored really quickly and jump from one thing to another. Not that I am bored with this story, oh god forbids ::waves her hands franticly to avoid misconception:: But unfortunately, apparently I am not asked when something becomes too much for my Geminic mind ::pokes mind with a hot spear:: Die, you bastard! DIE!

Ahem... anyways, this is not the end, though! I am prepared to fight till the last word! And I shall write this story to its full potential! ::fists the air impressively:: ::lightning and thunderbolts explode at the background::

Again, gargantuan thanks to **dragonsangel68** for the wonderful betaing she did on this chapter. I can't thank her enough! ::huggles the great beta-reader::

::sighs tiredly:: Enjoy this chapter? sorry it's so short?

* * *

Ginny had faced many horrors in her life. The Dark Lord at the age of eleven and the horrid monster of Chamber Of Secrets; she had overpowered countless Death Eaters, never leaving a shadow of a doubt regarding her capability with a wand; she held up her front when the healers told her George would die by the end of the night, she had sat at his bedside and fought along with him against his injuries until he recovered; she suffered much pain and loss after the War, just like everyone else.She also had to face the realization that it was now on the shoulders of those who remained to rebuild the Wizarding World out of dismal ruins it had become.

She always knew she was strong and powerful, more levelheaded and fierce than any other might've been in her situation. She always saw herself as an equal to all the other men and women who battled by her side. She never denied feeling fear. Fear was the natural result of everything she had been through. But never in her entire life did she act upon that fear.

Never did she think that she would be standing in front of Harry Potter, the man she loved, paralyzed with terror.

Ginny was frozen in her place, eyes fixated on the man in front of her, whose once handsome features were now twisted into a dreadful sneer. She clutched one hand around the banister beside her, feeling as though her knees would give way any moment. Her stare darted to the drawn wand in Harry's grip and somewhere in the back of her mind she cried at herself to draw her own wand, but the thought was too meager and flickered unnoticeably before drowning in the sea of whimpering horrified voices. Her mouth dried in an instant and all she could do was just stand motionlessly, looking at him and feeling utterly helpless.

"Ginevra? how nice to see you." Harry was the one to break the silence, his voice laced with formal cordiality while his eyes spit undeniable fire.

Hearing her full name being uttered in such an unsettling manner, a small smothered sound escaped Ginny's lips. She bit back a cry for help that threatened to overcome her and swallowed hard. Still she found no words.

"Are you cold?" he suddenly asked with overly tender voice, noticing she began to tremble slightly.

Finally retrieving the control over her body, Ginny cleared her throat and began descending the stairs again in a sharp angle away from him. "No, I am fine. Now if you'll excuse me?"

For a moment she thought she would be able to break through, avoiding a scene and another of Harry's possible outbursts.

Before Ginny could properly comprehend what had happened, Harry's fingers were grasped around her arm, renewing the pain in her nearly healed bruises. He jolted her roughly, sending her swirling around, slamming into his wall of chest. "Is this a way to treat your husband, Ginevra? Like a stranger?"

"My name is Ginny," she said almost evenly. "And you're not?" her voice faltered as for a vague moment she seemed to see his irises narrow vertically into menacing slits. She gulped hard, heart pounding painfully, the sight had disappeared almost instantly, leaving her an indistinct memory that may have been - _and probably was_ - an optical illusion.

Harry's mouth widened into a smirk that had nothing in common with the sweet and sheepish grin that used to send her heart a fluttering and for a very confusing instant everything was clear and familiar. But the realization faded away, leaving Ginny more baffled and petrified.

"I am not who, Ginevra?"

"You are not my husband," she muttered, her words barely audible. "I want a divorce," she stated plainly, not giving a second thought to the straightforwardness of her statement.

Harry seemed bemused for a moment and his smile wavered at the sound of her words. "Divorce?" Harry inquired in an unbiased tone. "You want a divorce?" he repeated, his manners seemingly simmering. His grip around her arm tightened even more as he twisted it painfully and watched her face wince. "You want a _divorce_?"

Eyes wide with horror, Ginny tried to free herself, yanking her hand away from him.

"Harry, please?" she gave way to trembles in her entire body, making her voice quiver pitifully, all fleeting thoughts of bravery gone.

"What?" he inquired unabashedly. "Release you? Ginevra, you seem to fail to notice a very simple fact," he paused, leering at her. "You belong to me. You can't run, because I will always bring you back; you can't hide, because I will always find you and? you can't leave?" he leaned closer, his lips quirking into a smile and whispered the words tenderly. "? Because I will never let you."

A whimper escaped Ginny's lips involuntarily as he jerked her again and she tried to pry his hand away with her trembling fingers.

"Let me go?" she pleaded, her voice lacking any traces of the fierce woman she was.

Harry's eyes widen in a wave of anger and he let go of her hand, to send a brutal blow to her face with the back of his hand.

"You are in no position to make demands," he hissed, watching her stumble to the cold asphalt.

Ginny crumbled to her knees, nursing the side of her face. She knew she must try and make a run for it. Still on her hands and knees she frantically scampered away, scraping her palms on the ragged stones. Harry glared at her as she moved farther from him, but did not approach.

Using his pause to her advantage, Ginny scurried clumsily to her feet, groaning as a sharp pain shot through her limbs and took off running in the opposite direction. Her mind went blank again as it did _that_ night. She stared solely onto the ground beneath her, the pavement blurring into a shapeless smudge as the tears threatened to obscure her vision.

Through the thick fog that clouded her mind at these moments, she could hear the _Stupefy_ing curse being roared from behind her as Harry's voice carried to her ears with such aching malice. Just as she shot her eyes and prepared to be engulfed with the plain sensation of numbness that accompanied this particular charm, a counter spell was shouted from somewhere in front of her.

Her head snapped up in order to see whoever countered Harry's curse and she unexpectedly discovered that she was closer to the person than she realized. Ramming straight into the familiar robes, the figure suddenly grabbed onto her waist and swirled her around his body in a swift, fluent motion, positioning her behind him. Her heart throbbed rapidly as she clung to the man's expensive cloak and inched miserably closer to him, fully comprehending by the silky fair locks and the well-trained posture that it was none other than Draco Malfoy.

Draco glanced sideways, eyeing her for a moment with a neutral expression before noticing the bruise that was slowly becoming visible. Something fluttered past his gaze and the silver in his eyes darkened noticeably. His posture became more rigid and his slender fingers grasped onto his wand, while his indecipherable eyes trailed Harry as he made his way towards them.

Ginny tried to convince herself to relax and let go of Draco's arm, which she had gripped tightly to secure her own stance; but she could not bring herself to do so. When Harry came closer to the pair, Ginny uncharacteristically wondered why they hadn't just left before he reached them. Sensing Draco tense against her body, Ginny glanced upwards at him and couldn't help but feel relieved. He was here. She wasn't alone. _Draco Malfoy was her? knight in shining armor?_ She found it difficult to believe and the thought itself was quite disturbing.

At the sudden realization that she was musing trivial and pointless notions at a most inappropriate time, Ginny inhaled deeply, averting her eyes to the man that stood a mere five feet away from them. He was watching them intently with furious eyes, yet a smirk distorted his features.

"Well, well? Draco Malfoy? aren't you the exact replica of your miserable father," Harry quipped uncharacteristically.

Draco shifted his weight unnoticeably, reaffirming his hold on the wand, but didn't reply.

"Leave, Malfoy. While you still can," Harry said suddenly, his voice hardening as he noticed Ginny's hands on Draco's arm.

Draco smirked in response and his body remained tense. "Potter, you dare to threaten me? I see you've lost the remainder of your brain since I last saw you?"

"Malfoy, I am not in the mood for throwing insults. I am quite busy," Harry drawled impatiently, his eyes flickering to Ginny, which made her cringe further into Draco's back.

"Busy? This I can see?" Draco intoned calmly. Turning sideways to face both Harry and Ginny, he raised his hand and trailed two slender fingers upon Ginny's bruise, inspecting the damage.

Ginny released a quiet hiss at the cool contact, making him remove his hand frantically. Their eyes interlocked and Ginny saw the sudden worried glimpse veiled in Draco's gaze. Her heart skipped a beat and for a moment she forgot the fact that mere seconds ago she felt fear. Fear that had now dissipated for some reason. She felt her stomach beginning to churn in disappointment as an unexpected pulling sensation started tagging at her bruise, breaking the spell of his eyes. Gulping hard, she felt prickling sensation in the back of her head and turned to see Harry glaring at Draco, eyes full of unexpressed anger.

"Is this what you consider wooing your wife, Potter?" Draco prodded further, supposedly enjoying himself.

"Keep your slimy hands off of her," warned Harry, his voice laced with clear unspoken threats.

"I could say the same thing to you, Potter," Draco replied evenly, turning back to face Harry fully and shield Ginny with his own body.

Harry halted, visibly seething with anger. "This is none of your business."

"I believe I just made it my business," Draco intoned calmly, as though he expected Harry to accept that and leave. But Ginny could feel the muscles under his robe tense up and flex when an odd distasteful smirk appeared on Harry's face.

"I see? I finally understand. He is your new shag, Ginevra?" He glared at the small shivering figure that hid herself behind Draco's broad shoulders with disdain in his eyes. "The son of a Death Eater? All this time you stayed with? Malfoy?"

Ginny felt her mouth becoming dry as Harry's words reached her. _He knows now?_ It didn't matter what Harry thought about the nature of their relationship; he now knew where she was staying, where to find her. Ginny tightened her hold on Draco's arm and then loosened it momentarily, considering the option of running again. But just when she was about to let go of him completely, she felt his free hand reach behind him, invisible to Harry, and curl around the folds of her robe, drawing her back closer to him. Slightly surprised by the action, Ginny allowed him to pull her in another inch or two and then set her eyes on Harry when he spoke again.

"Well, you're not the _most_ useless, incompetent and just plain pathetic being I've ever encountered!" he exclaimed in apparent genuine amusement. "Very clever, Ginevra. To hide right under my nose and at the same time at the last place I might look?" He burst into a wave of laughter, settling down with soft chuckles and finally a deep inhale. When his eyes searched for hers once more, the smile disappeared from his face instantly. "You miserable, dejected excuse of a pureblood!"

With one of the most well-trained motions Ginny had ever witnessed, Harry drew up his wand with alarming speed and shouted out a Full-Body Lock at Draco.

Fortunately, he missed.

Ginny lost her balance and stumbled to the ground when Draco, in his overzealous attempt to safeguard her, pushed her behind him too roughly. She scampered to her feet and hurried away. Before her, numerous jets of colorful sparks ricocheted to and fro between the two wizards as both tried to disarm the other while defending themselves. At some point Draco dared a glance at Ginny to see she was all right. His eyes flicked momentarily behind himself, but it was long enough for a curse to be shouted indignantly and hit its target.

Ginny's face paled instantly, contrasting vividly with the blazing red locks that flowed down her shoulders. Her eyes widened in terror as she watched the stupefied Draco before her, his eyes glaring at her, his hand still gripping the wand readily. A heavy exhale drew her attention away from the frozen wizard and she glanced at a smirking Harry Potter who was approaching her calmly. He paused midway and scanned the statuesque Draco, as if appraising his own work then turned to Ginny again.

"Useless," Harry snorted with disgust. "Just like his father?"

Ginny remained silent her eyes fixated on Draco's. His eyes roared with still anger and wordless commands she could not comprehend and all she was left to do was pray.

"See Ginevra?" Harry's voice resounded again. "You always choose the losing side?"

Ginny gasped miserably when she felt icy abnormally long fingers tracing down the violet bruise. Tearing her gaze from Draco, she looked Harry in the eyes. For a moment she found herself fighting the uncontrollable urge to smile and lean into his arms. His body radiated such familiar and loved warmth that made her unable to keep a coherent thought for longer than an instant. He smiled at her gingerly and her heart fluttered, but it had a sullen feeling to it, as if residues' of the flutter left black smog inside of her chest. Suddenly she could not breath, nor could she move or speak.

Her knees weakened and she felt her skin scream with pain as Harry's fingers lingered on the bruise for a moment. His smiled broadened and he snaked his hand around her neck, brushing the delicate skin as he cupped her head and pulled her closer to him. Ginny closed her eyes and let out another miserable whimper as she felt his lips brush hers, moving tentatively at first and gaining more violence and vigor with every moment. She raised her hands and slammed her tiny fists on his chest, trying feebly to push him off of her; but he braced the other hand around her waist and pressed her closer to him, ignoring her meek attempts.

His lips became more forceful until every action Harry performed on her caused genuine painful. Her heart raced and a lump formed in her throat. She felt the unspeakable sensation of nausea rise in her stomach, but she could not muster more strength than she had already used to push him away. Her mind cried out in disgust and chanted ferociously - _Please stop, please stop, please stop? Draco, stop this!_

Ginny's eyes flung open as the last thought rushed through her mind and at once she became even more confused. But she was not allowed to dwell on that notion as at the same moment her lips were freed abruptly and a flash of expensive dark green robes send Harry flying to the ground. Her eyes widened with horror at the sight of Harry's eyes and once again she was overfilled with dread.

Draco stepped in front of her and her body moved to him of its own accord. The blond-haired wizard glared at his opponent sitting on the ground, massaging his aching chin.

"She is _my_ wife, Malfoy! You can't hide her from me. She belongs to _me_!" he paused, glancing at Ginny, his green eyes undertook a most disturbing sheen. "Don't you, Ginevra?" he spoke in eerie calmness, which made her shrivel into Draco's back even further. "Yes, you do?" he hissed, grinning with mirthless glee.

She thought Draco would reply, but he was silent and for a moment she feared he might turn and walk away. She did not know where such a thought came from, but suddenly it became a very likely possibility and she had to control herself not to cling to his robes and beg him to stay. Her eyes caught a glimpse of his silver eyes blazing with unspeakable fury, swiftly he turned to her and a slender hand grabbed hers, then he mumbled quietly - "Apparate".

* * *

A soft popping sound echoed through the bare walls of the Malfoy Manor foyer as the couple appeared in the middle of the chamber. The moment they both were standing on a solid ground, Ginny felt Draco let go of her hand, almost shoving it away from him in disgust. Grunting something, he turned his back on her and strode to the farthest part of the foyer. She watched him as he began to pace furiously, clenching his fists tightly as some unknown images or thoughts ran through his mind. She was surprise to watch his usual indifferent fa?ade slipping away - pace by pace. He fisted the air in front of his, swinging his arm swiftly in gracefully infuriated arch and when the greeting elf came for their cloaks, he almost hexed him.

Ginny meant to thank him tentatively as they arrived back into the Malfoy Manor, but instead was now standing silently, watching Draco march back and forth heatedly across the foyer. She could clearly see he was beyond angry; he was livid and as she watched him chase away the petrified creature, something flashed through her mind, comparing Draco to Harry. But while she mused the possibility, she found herself standing still and not trying to move as far from him as possible. She found it almost comical, to say the least, that she was mind-numbingly terrified of Harry, yet felt herself at ease and - _God, what may have become of me?_ - safe around Draco

Watching Draco rave about, muttering to himself, finally losing control completely and hurling an ornamental vase at the opposite wall, Ginny was sure she knew the cause of this uncharacteristic outburst - Harry. It was so obvious; how could it not be? How could any man not be enraged by Harry's more than odd behavior? She was so wrapped up in meaningless contemplations that she didn't notice Draco stop pacing.

Turning sharply to face her, but remaining at a distance, he glared at Ginny suddenly. "Where is your wand?" he asked, his voice failing to reflect the fury he felt and remaining familiarly smooth and cool.

Puzzled by the oddity of his question, Ginny buried her hand into the lapels of her cloak and pulled out the slim baton. What did he mean? In my cloak of course, for easy access? _>_

A sudden growl escaped Draco's lips, the last traces of his icy exterior dissipating into nothingness in front of her eyes. Ginny had a feeling an event like this should be documented, like a solar eclipse - rare and beautiful occurrence. Had she given it a thought or was curious enough to search his blazing eyes; she would've discovered a deep sense of frustration within him that he did not care to hide.

All of a sudden, Draco's expression changed and his eyes darkened tremendously. Gripping his own wand tightly, he aimed its tip at her and hissed out - "_Stupefy_".

Ginny's eyes widened at the sound of the curse and she allowed her body to react instinctively. "_Protego_!" she shouted and a layer of sheer energy enveloped her protectively as the curse bounced off and away. In split of a second, the shield was down and another spell was shouted out. "_Reductor_!"

With a massive blast of invisible force, Draco was thrown back painfully against a wall. Recuperating, he stood up slowly, straightening his robes and sweeping away invisible specks of dust. His head was throbbing from the vicious impact with the wall and his chest was burning from the impact of the spell, but his posture was toned like a fine string and the usual icy exterior swiftly engulfed him once again.

"What do you think you were doing?" Ginny snapped at him venomously, not feeling the smallest tang of remorse for using the Reductor spell on him. She knew it was originated in order to blast apart solid objects and was severely painful when cast on a human, but when Draco tried to _Stupefy_ her it didn't matter. Now _she_ was enraged. _How dare he try to stun me? What kind of game does he think he's playing?_

Draco's lips quirked into a smirk, but his eyes were still darkened and full of? something Ginny couldn't recognize - "Potter was right? you do belong to him." The words cut deeply and were unusually brutal, but it did not seem to bother him and his face did not show any traces of remorse as he sent her a hateful glare and disappeared up the stairs.

Ginny found herself trembling in the middle of the foyer, eyes on a brink of being overwhelmed with tears, fixated on the direction Draco vanished into. Her stomach lurched unbearably, her chest was knotting tightly and her mind was screaming and demanding revenge or at the very least physical retaliation. But she remained standing and did not try to pursue him to demand an explanation. Something at the back of her mind began gnawing.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** ::sigh:: There were suppose to be two more scenes in this chapter, but I just couldn't write them and didn't want to delay this any longer. So I'll put them in the next chapter and meanwhile, I hope you enjoyed enough to bestow upon this points to self miserable author a few reviews :) 


	9. Comfortable

**Disclaimer:** Listen up, this is NOT MINE! I'm just using the characters for my own twisted pleasure. Dance, puppets, _dance!_

**Author's Notes:** Hi, people! First of all I would like to wish you a very Merry Christmas and lots of cool pressies!

Second of all - w00t! I updated! Unfortunately, this shall be my only update for the upcoming month or so. Exams, Christmas and life is being a pain in the yes, you know…

Once again, tremendous thanks to **dragonsangel68**!!! ::hugs::

Nanyway, enjoy this chappie!

* * *

Coldness - she could feel it creeping slowly through her body inch by inch until it finally engulfed her savagely beating heart in constricting burden. She had never felt such searing and deadening coldness beforehand, not even on the most cold of winter nights while hiding in the Burrow's attic in a feat of teenage-rage. Bitter and hateful wisps ripped at her insides, freezing her whole body from within, leaving her utterly helpless. Never had there been a situation where she could not fight back whatever opposed her and leave the battle victorious. Ginny was never helpless.

Until now…

The cold was far worse than darkness or pain - she could always light a flame to chase away the darkness or ignore the pain, but there was nothing she could do against the cold. There was no spell or charm to cast it away and even if there were she was unable to blink, let alone lift a wand and use it; nor could she ignore it because from the moment it appeared, it was all she was. Cold. Frozen. Helpless.

She was paralyzed, no longer was able to feel her own body. It was as if she was locked inside herself with this horrible sensation of stillness, with nothing to do but wait. Her eyes were locked on the horrific image of Harry Potter, a man she once loved, grinning inhumanly.

Just mere moments before, she found herself in the middle of the Chamber of Secrets again, any realization that it was yet another dream was nonexistent. She opened her eyes just in time to see the Dark Lord utter the Unforgivable and the infamous hero collapsed limply. This time she did not hesitate, rushing frantically to Harry's side, hearing the flow of strong cusses behind her. Just as Voldemort began laughing, she knelt beside the fallen hero and scooped his cut-strewn head onto her lap. His head lolled lifelessly, revealing the deep wound that crested his forehead and bled dark crimson, staining her ashen hands.

Tears no longer brimmed her eyes for she was too tired, and perhaps somewhere at the back of her mind she assured herself that the spectacle was not real - Harry Potter was _not_ dead. But the sickening realization came sooner than she wished and almost calmly, though her fingers were trembling awfully, she wiped away the blood from his forehead and cheeks.

It was then that it happened. The closed pale eyelids flung open even before the body itself came to life and glared up at her, his irises vertical slits and instead of the endearing green - bleeding red. His face twisted into a hateful smirk and her first reaction was to back away, but before she could do so, his hand shot out and grabbed onto her wrist. And with the contact came the cold.

Acute rimy ringlets circled around her heart, sharply tightening as she tried to gasp for air. Her lungs burned with freezing agony and she knew it wouldn't take long before she would lose her grip on the world. Dragging air in became impossible and useless, as the much-needed oxygen couldn't flow past the frozen tissues of her throat.

A moment passed and she didn't seem to notice that Harry's face was no longer smirking at her from her lap. She couldn't quite comprehend anything then, but somewhere in her mind she was beginning to understand - the coldness came from Harry. The awareness was so striking, she flung open her eyes, not knowing they were actually closed before, and saw that he was now in front of her.

"Ginevra…" came the hiss from his lips, sickeningly reminding her of a certain handsome black-haired boy she had the misfortune of conversing with.

All of a sudden, all she knew was that she didn't want to die anymore and she didn't even comprehend the fact that she was screaming.

* * *

Draco always considered himself as a reasonable person, who could easily see logic in anything, speak good sense to anyone and most importantly understand reason at any given moment. Of course he often did not act upon this intelligence, but he did possess it and used it well when needed. Never in his entire life did he encounter a being, situation, statement or anything else that he could not see reason in. He even saw wisdom in his own father and his doings - a sick and twisted wisdom, but wisdom nonetheless. Draco needed this intelligence in order to understand and know his surroundings, and those who surrounded him, which easily allowed him to predict any action to be taken. Without boasting, he attributed healthy and logical reason to be one of his best qualities.

So one could easily understand why it maddened him beyond comprehension when he couldn't, despite his numerous and incisive attempts, see reason within a certain Miss. Ginevra Weasley (and _Miss._ Ginny _Weasley_ she remained for him, since he absolutely refused to regard her by any other surname and status). She was a confident, self-sufficient journalist of the Wizarding Community's best-selling newspaper; she was clever and knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. She participated in the Final Battle against the Dark Lord and received a Merlin's Order of first degree for her endeavors. Known for her destructive temper and warm heart, she was highly appreciated and respected in any official establishment. She was easily able to outwit anyone who dare to challenge her, including Draco himself. But despite all of these facts, she somehow found herself in a situation where her own husband didn't waver in the face opportunity to physically attack her.

_Potter was right,_ Draco thought to himself bitterly, swirling his glass and watching the crackling flames from the fireplace of Malfoy Manor's living room reflect in the auburn liquid. _You_ do _belong to him._ His jaw clenched tightly and he gulped down the smooth drink, willing himself not to lose control again. The last time he did could've very well cost him much more than he was prepared to pay.

He could still see Ginny's eyes the moment he sent the _Stupefy_ing curse at her - the red rage and the undeniable fierceness. _She probably shrieked 'How dare he?' in her mind,_ he mused, chuckling at the possibility. The laughter was cut short by a searing sting shooting through his chest, rumbling synchronically with the chuckle. He hissed in pain, automatically rubbing the chest with his free hand, growling in frustration as the pain worsened. _Damn little weasel and damn her Reductor spells!_

He allowed the ache to fade away, drowning it for good measure with another gulp of Ogden's Firewhiskey, his thoughts trailing back to the situation at hand.

He was mad at Ginny. Yes, the thought surprised him, in the beginning, but it was exactly how he felt. He was mad at her, furious even. How, on earth, did she allow Potter to do such a thing to her? Why, for the love of God, was she so fierce and righteous when she faced Draco, but diminished herself to the role of a frightened little girl when it was Potter in front of her?

Draco was outraged by the thought, yet was unable to deny its' truthfulness. Ginny could easily set free her wrath upon him, lashing out until he actually backed away in an act of fright; but when it came to Potter, she would recoil and quiver in fear, hide at best if he raised his voice.

Ginny lacked the reason Draco craved to see in everyone - a fact that unsettled him more than he wished to admit. This absence of reason made Ginny completely unpredictable in Draco's eyes. He could not forecast what she might do next - a feat he was capable of performing normally, somewhat effortlessly at all times - and this did not only unsettle him, but quite frankly agitated him as well.

His mind just couldn't comprehend why would a woman of Ginny's morality and beliefs would cringe away miserably when a man who claimed to love her, a man she trusted with her own heart did what Harry did. The sight of it was even more monstrous than the thought. To see her - a magnificently livid creature, a fighter - cower into a shriveling bud only by his gaze. To feel her dainty body tremble violently, gripping onto his cloak so tightly he could feel her ragged breath on the back of his neck and know - know! - the bastard in front of him did not feel any remorse whatsoever.

Somehow the fact that she was a Weasley didn't matter at all, he would've felt the same had it been some other bruised woman to happen upon his path _that_ evening. But the fact that the one to cause those bruises was none other than Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the one who was adored and worshiped by thousands, drove him out of his mind. How could such a _Hero_ raise his filthy hands to a woman? His wife, at that!

A painful knot constricted at the pit of his stomach at the memory of violet bruises covering Ginny's face and Draco's control slipped momentarily. Though only long enough for him to hurl his glass into the fireplace with utmost accuracy and bottled anger, watching the flames spur out and lick the ceiling of the crude hearth.

Control seeping back into its place, Draco raked his fingers through the fair strands of his hair. Absently watching a small fidgeting elf appear from nowhere, hurrying to clear the shards of his destroyed glass; he rubbed his eyes, telling the creature to bring him the fruit basket. Picking a big green apple from the house elf's offering, Draco took the little jagged knife from its regular place and started the familiar routine, carving the peel into a long twisting coil. Placing it onto the table beside him, he brought the apple to his lips and opened his mouth to sink his teeth into it, but stopped as the green of the peel caught his eye. Putting the apple down, Draco picked up the peel and after giving it a suspicious once-over, bit it.

Another thing that was bothering him was what he felt beneath the anger toward Ginny, for he did feel something beneath the anger - something that wasdisturbing him. Astonishingly, something commanding enough for the _Stupefy_ing spell to be broken without any apparent reason. Part of him was mildly intrigued by the actual reason why Potter's spell ceased, when the wand wasn't broken, nor the possessor of the wand destroyed. The other part was more occupied by the troubling desire to rip Potter's guts out when he kissed Ginny, a desire that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he was captured by an OWL level charm cast by the arrogant ass.

Of course there was another thought flickering through his mind every few minutes. A thought that seemed so preposterous and far-fetched that Draco easily could've continue to ignore it, if not for the fact that he was now munching on a long coil of green apple peel. The thought was that perhaps he was starting to harbor more complex feelings toward Miss Weasley than simple chivalrous wishes to protect her.

_Well, they do say weasels grow on you as pets,_ he thought to himself, instantly grimacing in distaste at his own words. He really was childish.

Draco suddenly froze, swallowing the remaining apple peel. The air shifted about him and his muscles tensed as some mostly unnoticeable traces of fear drifted into the living room. Few moments passed and he could clearly hear muffled noises he learned to recognize so well in the last two weeks or so coming from the small bedchamber on the first floor. Though something was different - her stifled moaning wasn't subsiding as usual, but quite the contrary - it was getting louder by the moment, until it was no longer muffled and Draco couldn't ignore it, clenching his fists and waiting for it to fade.

The still night air was shattered by a piercing cry that ripped through the tranquility, for the first time unleashing Ginny's nighttime demons onto the world.

Instinctively, Draco sprung from the overstuffed plush chair. Shooting through the foyer and up the stairs, he burst through the door into her room, immediately noticing the striking chill. His eyes franticly searched the lightless room, finally settling on her trembling form. She was sitting upright in her bed, eyes still closed, embracing herself, and loud sobs escaped her throat between ragged breaths.

Hesitating, only until another sob broke free from her, Draco rushed to Ginny's side, realizing he had no idea what to do. It seemed as if she was still locked inside her nightmare, unable to wake up nor open her eyes. Gently holding both her shoulders, ignoring the unsettling sensation in his stomach at the contact, he noted how absolutely freezing she was. Scanning the room again, he tried to remember if the chamber was the coldest, but his mind was screaming in unreasonable tongues to calm her down yet he was unable to build a coherent answer.

All of a sudden a pair of slender arms shot from her violently trembling body, wrapping tightly around his neck and dragging him closer until he flopped onto the bed beside her. His hands automatically wrapped around her shaking form, holding her tighter to him. He closed his eyes, softly inhaling her scent, and felt her rapid heart starting to slow down a bit. Her breaths became steadier, unconsciously synchronizing with his and the tension in her rigid body dissipated slightly as she allowed herself to relax against him.

Suddenly he felt very self conscious and awkward. He knew her actions were performed in a dream-like state and that she wasn't actually responsible for them, but something quaked inside of him and the same - now more salient - nagging thought flickered through his mind. He frowned at it and pushed it roughly aside, nevertheless continuing to hold the petite redhead.

He wasn't sure as to how she would respond to seeing him on her bed, holding her. Another notion reminded him of the things he last spoke to her and instantly he regretted ever opening his mouth. Realizing he probably needed to let go of her before she woke up and found him there, he started shifting his body out of her embrace, disregarding the uncharacteristic desire to stop.

He placed his hands on her arms in an attempt to disentangle himself, but was countered by her insistent tightening grip around his neck. "Don't leave me," came the tentative, barely audible whisper.

His stomach lurched and he was forced to close his eyes again, to try and steady his own breath and rapid heart. He heaved a defeated sigh and climbed onto the bed, careful not to disturb her hold on him too much. Slowly, he lowered her and himself down onto the cool sheets and lay perfectly still as she nestled into the nook of his arm, not allowing himself to relax at all. He laid stiff, staring at the ceiling above him as the small woman beside him drifted off into dreamless sleep and for a moment - brief and imperceptible as a lightening - he envied whoever it was she asked to stay beside her in her dream.

* * *

Ginny Weasley loved Saturdays. As far as she was concerned Saturdays were invented in order for her to sleep in until profane hours of the afternoon, with nothing on her mind but the softness of the blanket and the comfort of strong arms encircling her protectively. Saturdays were the kind of days that one constantly wished for and in some cultures and religions they were righteously proclaimed holy. Sundays were also nice, but they were always accompanied by the nagging thought that tomorrow the freedom would end; while Saturdays were blessed with the realization that tomorrow the freedom would still continue.

Sunlight streamed through the heavy canopy, filtering slyly into the shadowed depths of Ginny's bed, gracing her skin in golden glow as she stirred for the first time that morning. The first thought that had crossed her gradually awakening mind was a reminder of her fondness towards Saturdays, as she smiled through residues of slumber, snuggling closer to the warmth of human body beside her, placing her head on a firm chest.

The second thought was how glad she was that Harry finally took that overdue week off work. But as the thought revolved in her mind along with an image of Harry, memories of the previous night flooded her conscious. She could clearly see his features, once so loved and cherished, now feared, twisted into an odious sneer; his emerald eyes spitting fire while his fingers renewed the violet bruises around her arm. She remembered the terror and the bewilderment when she stumbled away from him, running as fast as she could; foggy vision caused by the threatening tears and the desire for everything to be nothing but a dream; and finally a now familiar figure, shouting a counter curse to protect her and shielding her behind himself.

And then there was nothing but the strong defensive presence she pressed herself to, trying to steady her heartbeat under the scrutiny of emerald eyes. She remembered voices, familiar voices, conversing almost pleasantly and then the first curse being sent by Harry. Loss of balance, terror for a second time and she was once again helpless and defenseless when Harry managed to _Stupefy_ Draco. _Then… then…_ Ginny stomach reeled as the memory of Harry's kiss struck her - hatred and cruelty oozing from his lips while the contact incessantly proved to her that it was not her Harry anymore. That she did not love him.

Drifting onwards down memory lane, Ginny stopped before it carried her into the foyer, knowing she did not wish to relive what had happened there. She couldn't bear seeing the severe disgust in Draco's eyes when he hurled the _Stupefy_ing curse at her. Neither did she need to hear his words echoing in her mind all over again - "_Potter was right. You do belong to him…_" - and that dull realization that he was right.

Ginny frowned deeply with a pained expression, burying her face into the nook of the protective arm wrapped around her, impulsively tightening her grip on waist that connected to that arm somewhere underneath the blankets. Mind still floating around at a dreamlike state, Ginny mused her notions from the previous night.

After Draco had stormed out, leaving a speechless and most shaken Ginny alone in the foyer, she had remained standing there, bitter tears creeping down her cheeks, up until Ora popped out of nowhere and ushered her upstairs and into her bedchamber. There, the caring and obviously well trained house elf rinsed her cautiously, charming the bruises and cuts away, before guiding her into the bed, tucking her in and placing a bony hand on her forehead, smiling sadly then popping out.

The moment Ora disappeared, Ginny was left alone with nothing but her raging thoughts to keep her wide awake. She tossed and turned, trying to ignore the troublesome concept, but her attempt was to no avail. No matter how hard she tried to disregard it, she kept coming back to the five words that seemed to rip apart her from the inside - "_You do belong to him…_"

She tried to picture, in what warped manner, his arrogant mind could've produced such an appalling idea. How did this conceited prat's conscience allow to him to suggest such a foul thing without losing its last traces of humanity, and why on earth was she vaguely trying to justify him? She replayed the scene in the foyer once again, this time pausing, with glimpses of comprehension, when he asked her of her wand. She had the wand with her all along and she didn't even try to use it on Harry, the thought so foreign it barely crossed her mind.

A sense of self-loathing gnawed at her stomach and as she shifted beneath the blankets another thought flickered through her mind. She had absolutely no reason to stay at Malfoy Manor - the sole reason for this arrangement was that Harry wouldn't have even thought about looking for Ginny there. Considering the fact that Harry now knew of her whereabouts, she could no longer consider the Manor a haven. Nor would Draco be as welcoming after he clearly showed his abhorrence toward her earlier that evening. She had no choice and made plans to rid Draco of his misery the next morning, she would return to the Burrow.

And now when morning had come, Ginny found herself unwilling to leave the comfort of her bed and the warmth of these strong arms, veiled by an oh-so-familiar fragrance she had happened upon before.

Sharp and acute, like a highly charged lightening bolt, the realization pierced her mind, forcing her to fling her eyes open. To her great surprise, she found herself nestled comfortably in the nook of a delicately pale arm, which held her tightly, lulled into tranquility by the strong and steady beat of a man's heart. Now wide-awake and very panic-stricken, Ginny sprang swiftly away from the cozy intruder, pulling the blanket with her while tightening it competently around herself.

Staring wide-eyed at the shirtless man from the other side of the bed, Ginny was even more surprised to discover it to be none other than Draco Malfoy. His hair was tussled carelessly from the pillow, his eyes shone their usually clear silver, though they were considerably keener, and his lips were curled into an amused, but somewhat cautious smirk. He shifted his weight, propping himself on an elbow and cocked his head to the side, watching her reaction with great delight, determined not to be the first to break the silence.

"What are you doing here?" Ginny demanded, though her voice wasn't too convincing in its unspoken accusations.

Draco remained silent for the moment, eyeing her wordlessly as the amusement in his features gradually dissipated and he regained his all too familiar calm fa?ade. Ginny couldn't believe he managed to seem collected and on top of things even when he was lying in her bed, shirtless and, up until few moments ago, holding her surreptitiously.

"You had another nightmare," Draco replied simply, as if it was the most understandable motive that could not be argued.

Ginny's eyes widened, if such thing was even possible. Only now when Draco had mentioned it, she remembered the nightmare from the previous night. She remembered the numbing cold that reigned in her body and the oppressing look in Harry's eyes when he hissed her name, in such a nauseatingly familiar manner. Then her mind was blank till now.

She opened her mouth to reply, but closed it as the words faltered at the back of her throat. She opened it again and once again closed it, searching for a way to express herself. Deciding she was starting to resemble a fish, she stopped, heaved a deep breath and after forming a reply in her head, opened her mouth. "And you found it suitable to barge into my room and sleep in my bed?"

"You were screaming," Draco shrugged with the simplicity of a five-year-old, who didn't understand what was all the fuss about.

"I was… I was screaming?" Ginny asked, indignantly propping her fists on her hips. _Here I draw the line! I do not - I repeat - do **not** scream. Ever. _

"You actually frightened the house elves. They thought we were attacked by a convoy of banshees," he smirked, heaving himself up into a sitting position.

Ginny sputtered at the man's audacity, the shock of finding him in her bed was quickly replaced with outrage. "I do _not_ scream!"

"Well, you did last night," Draco insisted coolly, obviously aware of Ginny's ire. He suddenly stopped, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow at his own words, noting they might be interpreted not quite appropriately. Smirking slyly at the thought, he switched his attention back to Ginny to watch her reaction.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at the impudent wizard, biting her tongue before she allowed herself to lash out at him again. It seemed that was exactly what he was waiting for and she wasn't going to act in accordance with his little antics. Shaking her head slightly, Ginny shifted her weight, sitting cross-legged, and leaned against the wooden footrest. Sighing, she chanced a glimpse at Draco and was taken by surprise by the barely discernible flutter in her stomach when she saw him watching her quietly, the atrocious smirk wiped away from his handsome features.

She closed her eyes and cupped them with a cold hand, rubbing at them tiredly. "I'm leaving," she blurted out finally, averting her attention back to Draco.

The reaction was immediate and so well camouflaged, Ginny almost missed it. Draco's eyes darkened instantly as his posture, which he had allowed to relax moments before, was once again tense and flawless. His features undertook the same dull impassive sheen Ginny was sure he used on his aggressive clients that refused to back down and do his bidding. She deemed to notice his jaws clench tightly in exactly the same manner that Thomas Brooks' fingers fidgeted.

"Leaving?" he drawled indifferently, careful not to betray anything that might lie beneath the veneer.

Ginny bit the inside of her cheek and nodded slowly, willing herself to hold Draco's icy stare. "I'll move to the Burrow for a while, until I can find my own apartment, I guess," she said, wondering why she was explaining herself to him.

"And Potter?" Draco inquired, succeeding almost perfectly at conveying himself completely.

Ginny blinked at the mention of the name and willed herself not to cringe. Noticing she was starting to fidget with her fingers herself, she drew a deep breath and placed both hands apart. "What about him?"

"You think you would be safe from him at the Burrow?" he asked, his indifference slipping a notch.

"I ho…" Ginny noticed her hands had crept back to each other and resumed their fidgeting, but did nothing to stop it. "Yes," she cut herself short, suddenly jumping off the bed and starting to pace slowly to and fro, heaving the blanket once in awhile back to its pace. "I mean I'll have Mom and Dad. Ron and Hermione are staying there at the moment as well. And, of course, I can… take… care… of myself…" she faltered noticeably on those last words, dropping her gaze to the twitching fingers.

Draco watched her cautiously through her rambling and when she started wavering in her speech, pursed his lips and slid off the bed elegantly. "Of course," he intoned curtly. He saw her looking at him when she finally lifted her gaze, once more noting the fact that he did not bother to cover his upper body. Pausing after he bypassed the bed, Draco gazed at her through the gradually dissipating veil of apathy.

Ginny froze in her place, her eyes fixated on Draco as he stood up slowly, arms' muscles ripple and shift tentatively when he pushed himself up from the bed. He walked from behind the bed and stopped, looking at her in a way that forced her to tug the slipping blanket back up. Something was terribly wrong, Ginny could feel it in her stomach as it churned and tussled, making her take an almost impulsive step back.

Draco arched his brow when she took a step back and matched it with two of his own steps towards her. "So, you think you would be safer from Potter in your own house than at Malfoy Manor?" he asked her, creasing his brows into a slightly hurt expression, which faded almost instantly.

"Umm…" Ginny watched with growing unease as Draco took yet another step towards her. _What is he trying to do now? Intimidate me?_ She jutted her chin up and looked at him defiantly. "Yes, I do. Besides, I stayed here because Harry wouldn't have thought to look for me here, but now that he knows where I am, there is no actual reason for me to stay here," Ginny replied evenly, all this time taking hesitant steps aback as Draco approached her confidently, nodding his head thoughtfully, as if agreeing with every word she was saying.

Finally Ginny took her last step back and found herself nudging the wall behind her that obviously signified the fact that there was nowhere to back away now. Her stomach lurched once again as she noticed the small smirk grace Draco's features when he realized she couldn't move back anymore.

He took another step and another, finally stopping less than a foot away from her. "You want to leave this well protected estate, which is surrounded by dozens of powerful wards, visible and invisible guards in order to move into a shaky structure that rightfully acquired a moniker 'The Burrow', with your parents, Weasel King and if I'm not mistaken, a pregnant Granger as your guardians in order to protect yourself from the blasted Boy Who Lived, who managed to defeat the strongest of dark wizards?"

_Well, when you put it_ that _way…_ Ginny thought bitterly, inwardly rolling her eyes. "Yes, Draco… there I could feel more comfortable," she said, dismissing his solid argument with a mere wave of her hand.

Ginny tensed immediately when Draco took the last step forward, closing the distance between them. Her heart skipped a beat right before it started pounding in a deafening manner and Ginny found herself paralyzed by his closeness. Her stomach churned and her breaths became difficult. Somewhere at the back of her mind some small voice was trying to coax her back into seizing control over her own body, but its attempts were futile since a few heartbeats ago she had surrendered to his warm breath, allowing it to chase away anything irrelevant for that particular moment, which included small nagging voices of reason.

He smirked as she gulped hard, gaze slipping to the small pink lips that quivered slightly, and licked his own lips absently. "And here you feel uncomfortable?" he whispered hoarsely, but gave her no chance to reply as he leaned even closer and smothered her possible answer with a kiss.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** It wasn't that bad, right? I mean the ending…

Well, enjoyed? Don't forget to tell me! Didn't enjoy? Tell me anyway! (Don't forget to leave a full name, address and any last words )


	10. Leaving

**Disclaimer:** Listen up, this is NOT MINE! I'm just using the characters for my own twisted pleasure. Dance, puppets, _dance!_

**Author's Notes:** Well, can you believe it? After months of pain, sweat and death threats the tenth chapter of IWNLYLM is actually out! Hallelluja!

As usual, humongous kudos to **dragonsangel68** for betaing this story, you're the greatest of 'em all!

Enjoy! I hope you like it:D

* * *

Soft. Like butterfly wings. How could anyone ever resist the temptation? How can anyone stand her ground before these lips. Defy the unassailable desire to touch them with the tips of her fingers, while wondering how this velvety perfection could cause such pain with mere words. Was it even possible to ignore the zeal with which he captured her lips, commanding her to stay put beside him, experience and _enjoy_ every intense motion? She felt numb, trapped within something she had no control of, sensing her self-restraint quickly dissipate into the cool air. 

Ginny felt a tentative hand trail airily the line of her jaw, cold slender fingers brushing her skin oh so tenderly. The other hand demandingly traced her waistline, pulling her yielding form closer to him, imprisoning her completely between the wall of stone and his wall of chest. Her own hands were still trying to maintain the blanket's loose position over her flesh, but control was slowly slipping away, making their grip limp and somewhat futile.

Eyes instinctively closed, Ginny allowed her lips to explore everything within their reach - the taste, the texture, the rhythm. Something within her understood that now he was revealing himself to her, showing her the way to the deepest and darkest secrets of his tainted soul. But despite the closeness, despite the passion and the warmth, she had that nagging overbearing feeling that instead of looking into his soul, seeing him bare and defenseless, she was staring dumbly into a sheer veil of ice. Frigid, fine, impenetrable ice. She tried to see beyond it, tried to look into that small gap he left for her, but it was impossible. This was infuriating - he was taunting her with the precious knowledge she didn't know she wanted to have so badly, flaunting it before her, but just out of her reach.

She groaned meekly against his lips, sensing his shoulders tighten as a result of that sound. If she could, she would've smirked, but exactly at that moment an eager tip of his tongue prodded possessively at the seam of her lips, demanding an entrance.

The tranquil daze that engulfed her a mere moment ago, has been shattered into million pieces by that unexpected attempt of intrusion, causing Ginny's eyes to fly wide open, only to be greeted by a pair of cold silver orbs. Steely gray was watching her with the same exasperating indifference, even while their lips were tangled together, as usual showing no traces of human emotions. The coldness of his eyes, perfectly contradicting to the warmth of his chest, hit her hard, causing her to regain all of the lost sense in an instant.

Gathering her strength, Ginny pushed Draco away with a disgusted grunt, ignoring the primeval objection of her body when was struck by the cold air, and hurried to tighten the loose blanket around herself, wiping the traces of him from her lips wincingly. She glared at him with something nearing hatred shining boldly in her eyes, her nostrils flared as always in moments of unspeakable rage, her heart throbbing painfully and her breath labored. She wanted to scream, to shout, to curse the man before her into oblivion for such act, but all she could do was stand in front of him, vulnerable and exposed.

"Get out," she finally muttered through gritted teeth. "Get out! Get out! _GET OUT_!"

In a flash of white of his complexion and the black of his pajama bottoms, Draco stormed out of the chamber, fleeing from the woman and her wrath, almost fearfully.

Ginny watched the door slam behind him and the instant she was sure the door was indeed closed, she collapsed onto the floor, bracing herself as hot frustrated tears flew freely from her eyes. She sobbed loudly, wishing to drown in her tears, wishing to fall asleep and never wake up, wishing to leave, to run, to hide, wishing to stop feeling so utterly lost and powerless. Sounds of desperation escaped her lips and she clutched her chest as the pain became almost unbearable, pushing her to the brink of her sanity and nudging her closer to the edge.

* * *

Ginny didn't know how long she was crying, but after what seemed like an eternity, she felt a now familiar bony hand on top of her head. Glancing up, she saw Ora's kind face smiling down at her, and couldn't stop another overwhelming wave of tears pouring from her eyes. Drawing her knees closer, she yielded into the small gaunt arms that enveloped her in a weak attempt of a hug. The house elf was surprisingly strong and cooed Ginny softly into fully leaning onto her, forgetting about her demeanor or composure for a while. 

Soft hushing sounds and a tender rub on her back finally lulled Ginny into tranquility. She was sitting on the floor, being hugged by the dedicated house elf and rocked, back and forth, by her, small sobs escaping her lips now and then. Everything darkened around her and the small bedchamber she had grown accustomed to during the past couple of weeks, now seemed foreign and strange once again. She tried to completely detach herself from her body, but couldn't. She was still aware of her eyes' being fixated on the opposite wall, and her lips still throbbing and tingling vindictively.

Questions and accusations echoed in her head, ramming her conscience with guilt and bombarding her with foul suspicions. Why did Draco do this? Why did he kiss her? Why did he protect her from Harry? Why did he helped her and let her stay here in the first place? Was it his plan all along - to lull her into a false sense of security, just so he could use her and hurt her even more?

Her stomach reeled with disgust at the thought.

But why? Why would he want to hurt her? And why go through all this trouble, of defending her from Harry? Why, why, _why_? Ginny wanted to scream out loud, making the windows shudder and break, but she didn't, afraid that she might scare the caring elf. So the questions, the confusion and the accusations remained circling in her mind, jeering and prodding every exposed raw nerve. What was she to do now?

_Leave! her mind screamed incredulous. Don't dare to search for justified reasons or excuses! Just leave! Do not play games with him! You do not want Draco Malfoy as your opponent, not now. He does not play by the rules…_ Ginny shook her head, trying to chase the spitefully accusing voice away. She was in no shape for dealing with outside reality, let alone evil inner voices of her conscience.

Nevertheless, she would leave. Immediately. She would avoid talking to Draco, if it was possible and she would get a grip on herself. She cannot spend her life hiding from Harry. She _will_ not! She would pull herself together and deal with everything with the same fire the Weasley family is known for!

Right after she stops crying, that is…

When her sobbing finally ceased, Ora returned into her frenzied mode and quickly ushered Ginny to her feet. She left the chambers for a moment, only to return accompanied by another four house elves, who carried a large tub, filled with warm clear water, which surprisingly did not spill out despite the elves' rather wobbling walk. Placing the bathtub carefully down, the four elves bowed their way out of the room, smiling submissively. Locking the doors after the elves had left, Ora helped Ginny into the tub and began rinsing her.

Ginny allowed Ora to wash her thoroughly, not saying a word. They never have actually spoken to each other and that is probably why she was quite surprised when a high-pitched voice cut through the silence.

"Nothing like a good bath to clear a confused mind, that what Ora always says."

Ginny blinked couple of times at Ora, taken aback for a moment by the unfamiliar voice, and cleared her throat nervously. "Umm…" she wanted to reply, but didn't know what could she say. "Yes… yes, I agree…"

"Master Draco has been having a lot of baths lately…"

Ginny blinked again, this time stunned by the words themselves and not the fact that they were talking. What was that? Was Ora trying to make a point or was she just tired of the silence? Was Draco… confused? Somehow that picture wasn't at all… natural. Draco Malfoy? Confused?

House elves were sworn to secrecy by their Masters. Forbidden to speak of family issues to anyone who was not considered a member. Was Ora bold enough to break the oath and risk severe punishment? And if she was, what was her reason?

"Oh," was all Ginny managed to mutter indifferently in an effort to try to bait Ora into saying more.

Ora paused for a moment and glanced at her sideways. She pursed her lips as if slightly irritated that Ginny could not understand such a blunt hint, before resuming the circular scrubbing motions, not saying a word.

Ginny frowned, disappointed that Ora refused to continue and slumped back. Her mind suggested her to question the servant, but she did not want to seem overeager or perhaps even paranoid. _No_, she shook her head and closed her eyes shut. She was beginning to hear coverts and conspiracies in words of the house elves and that couldn't have been a good sign.

Tired, frustrated and more confused than she had ever been, Ginny fell silent, chasing all thoughts from her mind and yielding completely to Ora's committed care. But thoughts crept back and she found herself planning what she should do next. After the bath, she would head out to _Daily Prophet'_s editorial, to talk to Brooks and have him assign someone else to the Malfoy Inc story; but mostly she would catch up on paperwork. And after the work… she would return to the Burrow. Of course she would send Draco an owl, thanking him for accommodating her and helping her out, but it will hopefully be the only contact between them.

Ginny remained silent, allowing her thoughts to wander about, not quite caring as long as she didn't have to focus. She was brought back to reality by a soft squeaky coughing sound, which caused her to blink away the dull haze and glance at the small magical creature.

Ora stopped washing her and helped her out, toweling her as carefully as always and helping her dress. Ginny sat down on the bed, watching Ora wordlessly as she orchestrated the removal of the tub, and smiling to the bowing house elves. When everything was cleaned and taken care of, Ora turned to Ginny, her face expressionless, as of a good servant. Ginny involuntarily cringed at the thought.

The elf bowed down obediently and was about to leave when Ginny called her over.

"Ora… umm, I'm leaving Malfoy Manor and moving back to my parents' house today. I just wanted to thank you for always being there whenever I needed support and attention and… umm, well, healing…"

"It was my pleasure, Miss Ginny," squeaked Ora, instinctively bowing slightly. Her eyes gleamed with something sympathetic.

"Thank you for always appearing whenever I was… crying," Ginny smiled and was about to dismiss her when a though broke through. "I couldn't have been crying that loud, could I? How did you always know when…?"

Ora held Ginny's inquiring stare for a long silent moment, before breaking the most inconspicuous smile onto her odd face. "The atmosphere of the Manor shifts subtly whenever the Mistress of the Manor cries. Or fears. And years of practice taught Ora to notice that shift…"

Ginny willed her features to remain bleak, while her insides suddenly flared up. _Years of practice? _Her mind shrieked. _What has been going on here for years? _

"Mistress Narcissa was too much of a free spirit for Master Lucius' taste, you see," the devious house elf explained casually. "He was a bit rash with his fists, if you will, and she was a bit rash with her tongue. So I learned to recognize the signs of those undue quarrels. Master preferred to spend that time in the opposite wing of the mansion, while I helped Mistress…" now it seemed Ora was mumbling, though it was highly uncharacteristic of her.

Eyes widening slightly at the horror images brought into Ginny's mind, she heaved a small shuddering breath.

Nausea pulsating from her stomach, to her limbs and chest. Ginny suddenly felt very sick. This was impossible to comprehend, though it probably shouldn't have been so surprising. Lucius Malfoy was a cruel man and a vicious Death Eater, with austere and obsolete beliefs, who saw everyone beneath him and his purity. Then why was she so flabbergasted?

_It has nothing to do with Malfoy senior…_ a small voice chimed in.

And it was correct. Was Draco aware of what was going on between his parents? How could he not be, he was never daft. But he was too small to do anything. And now…_ And now he's helping me because he couldn't help his mother…_

Ginny sighed and rubbed her face, feeling all of her accusations seeping away and being replaced with the most engulfing feeling of exhaustion. She glanced at Ora through her fingers and smiled tiredly at her, dismissing the elf with a tilt of her head. Hearing the door click softly into its place, Ginny allowed a loud groan to escape her lips as she fell limply onto her bed.

Ignoring its creaky protests, Ginny buried her face into the pillow and lay still for a moment. Inhaling deeply, she suddenly sensed a knot settling at the pit of her stomach as a familiar scent hit her nostrils. It was a clean, cold, delicate smell of something that she couldn't quite remember at the moment, but still it was so enticing, so intoxicating, so possessing. Slender coils crept into her elegantly, trailing spherical motions down her chest, and when they finally reached her heart, they wrapped themselves around it like fine ringlets, constricting officiously.

She winced in pain and shifted herself onto her elbows, glaring at the pillow beneath her. _So it wasn't in Ferret Boy's intentions to… yeah. _She frowned at herself for a moment, realizing she wasn't quite sure what her accusations were regarding Draco's intentions. But it didn't matter now, since they were not true. She hoped.

_But why did the git have to kiss me? _She growled audibly, grabbing the pillow and sending it flying against the opposite wall. _Git_.

She buried her face in the other pillow, but discovered that it was tainted by his smell also. Shrieking disbelievingly, Ginny threw the second pillow away as well and lay flat on her stomach.

_Now what? _

* * *

Unsullied rays of the morning sun streamed into the library through the high windows, glimmering among the wooden bookshelves, bathing all in golden mist, and revealing the numerous specs of dust as those whirled in the air. Ancient tomes of magic, literature, poetry and knowledge dwelled among these shelves peacefully, forever at exposal and use of the Malfoy family. Lately, the library had been shrouded heavily in a stiff silence, since recently the current Master of the Mansion lessened his visits and took comfort in front of the blazing fire in the living room. But now, a soft thudding sound echoed through the chamber, gradually increasing. 

Draco Malfoy was banging his head on a bookcase.

"So you heard her scream and went up to see if she was alright?" clarified Sir Lynus, watching his grandson with highly amused expression.

"Yes."

_Thud. _

"She had yet another nightmare and you tried to calm her down…"

"Correct…"

_Thud. Thud. _

"She calmed down and you were about to leave, but…" Lynus stifled a bemused chuckle. "She dragged you into the bed beside her…"

_Thud. Thud. Thud. _

"She didn't drag-"

"And this morning," Lynus interrupted Draco, enjoying himself probably more than he should have. "She was fairly surprised to find you in her bedchamber, let alone in her bed…"

"Yes…" Draco clenched his jaws in self-reproach, holding himself back from setting the portrait on fire.

_Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. _

"Then what?" inquired Lynus, smothering a devious smile. He really shouldn't take pleasure in his grandson's turmoil. Oh well…

_Thudthudthudthud…_

Draco remained silent, gritting his teeth and tightening his fists. What was he thinking coming to his grandfather with this? Of course the old man would jeer him and enjoy his suffering! Hell, Draco would've enjoyed it as well, hadn't it had been him.

"What happened next, Draco?" Lynus insisted, his voice bordering a demand.

_Thudthudthudthudthudthudthudthudthudthudthudthudthud… **Thud. **_

Draco flexed his shoulders and clenched his jaws again, leaning his head onto wooden surface of bookcase's side. Trying to word what happened next, he found it quite impossible. Heaving a deep breath, air wheezed out of his lungs as the blood rushed to his ears. "She…" _Thud_. "She said…" _Thud_. "That she was going back to the Burrow-"

The silence suddenly thickened in the library as no reply came from Lynus, but the distinct glaring at the back of Draco's neck was more than obvious to the younger wizard. "And?"

_What else do you want, you tattered canvas? _Draco cussed and snarled under his breath, curling his fingers into a fist and slamming it into the bookshelf. It jolted in objection, sending the books tumbling onto the floor and falling into a heap of pages.

Draco heaved another calming breath. "And…"

"You OAF!" Lynus' voice thundered about, shattering the cumbering silence and sending the portrait into uncontrollable swings. "You kissed her?"

"She kissed me back!" Draco growled in return, spinning away from the bookstand and glaring furiously at the painting. "She"

"I do not care if she stripped in front of you and pranced around in a pink nightgown!" Lynus shouted, outraged by his grandson's behavior. "You had no right to kiss her! I did not raise you to take advantage of hurt women! What kind of a man are you?"

"Shut your bloody yap, you threadbare cloth! It was never in my intention to take advantage of her and you know it!" Draco continued unfazed, wishing he had his wand with him so he could threaten the portrait of his Grandfather more efficiently. "II just…"

"You just let your reproductive organs do all the thinking," barked Lynus, still in a deep frown with disapproval written all over his features.

"No! I… I…" he took a deep breath in order to recollect his thoughts, sensing every loose strand of his mind unwinding out of control. He inhaled sharply, preparing to shout out another stream of excuses. "She" his voice got caught somewhere in his chest as confusion and frustration overwhelmed him. Raking his fingers through his hair, he slumped into an armchair near the window, placing his feet on the windowsill and gazing outside. "Kissed me back…" he whispered more to himself, his fingers brushing the lower lip uncertainly.

A sharp and annoyed exhale carried from the ancient canvas as Sir Lynus rolled his eyes with disbelief. "Yes, yes, good, good… boy, do you understand what you have done? You didn't just kiss her. _You. Kissed. Her. _"

Draco, still gazing out of the window, paused at those words. His eyes, slowly and redundantly slipped to his Grandfather, taking in the concerned and critical veneer of the old wizard. Then, the subtle shudder of his long eyelashes, vaguely resembling a blink, the only visible sign of his realization. "She thinks I did that because I want to use her," he said calmly, as a mere, somewhat irrelevant declaration.

"Tea, Master Draco?" a tiny overly polite voice cut through the silence.

Draco jerked his head to the side, irritated that he had been disturbed, but restrained his lashing when he saw his Head house elf watching him with a well-mannered, yet somewhat wily, smile. "No… no, Ora, I am alright," he dismissed her with a wave, almost instantly turning back to her with inquiring eyes. "What are you doing in the library? Where is Cilli?"

"Oh, I just came here because Miss Ginny asked me to give you this before she left," said Ora with a hint of fake nonchalance, offering Draco a small piece of parchment.

Draco's features veiled in concern as he jumped out of his armchair and snatched the parchment from Ora. Eyes skimming the note, he felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten, while shrewd coils of irritation graced his already thoroughly confused and futile mind at the sight of Ginny's delicate yet vigorous handwriting.

_Mr. Malfoy _

I would like to express my gratitude for your

Here the word '_kind_' was scratched out.

_suitable offer in the appropriate time. I apologize for any inconveniences that were caused by my temporary residence in the Malfoy Manor, and hope that our paths will not cross again anytime soon. _

PS - Clothing that were purchased with your finance, remain in the wardrobe.

Growling in utter disbelief, Draco crumbled the parchment viciously, sneering at no one in particular. "That brat!" he snapped, hurling the paper ball out of the window. "I cannot believe that girl!"

"Woman, Draco… Miss Weasley qualifies as a woman," Lynus intoned patiently, closing his eyes for a moment.

"She qualifies as a childish insolent girl!" Draco barked in respond, storming out of the library.

Ora and Sir Lynus glanced at each other, exchanging meaningful looks. Ora walked over and straightened the portrait, stepping back and smiling surreptitiously at the man in the painting, who returned the smirk with the same cunningness.

* * *

Ginny paused on the front porch of the Burrow, taking a deep breath and listening to the voices inside of the house. Two weeks had passed since the last time she'd visited or even spoken to her Mother. She wasn't sure how she was going to look her in the eye. Guilt returned in a forceful wave, crushing her conscience ruthlessly under its inescapable burden. Ginny closed her eyes and heaved another breath, hoping it would flood out everything that was making her doubt her choice to return home. She didn't even know what she was feeling guilty for. 

But she was confused, so confused that she had to stop couple of times while she strode through the streets of Diagon Alley, and take a moment to gather her thoughts, because she seemed to lose her way every couple of blocks. At one point, she found herself staring at the window show of Flourish and Blotts, not knowing how exactly she got there from across the alley. She shook her head and clenched her fists, feeling her composure gradually return by the arbitrary gesture, and quickly excused it as her emotional exhaustion and downright confusion.

She left the Malfoy Manor that morning, as soon as she could rip herself from the white sheets, which were cruelly drenched in that clean cold smell, Draco carried with pride. She phrased and rephrased the note at least five times before asking Ora to deliver it after she'd departed. Somehow she knew the wording of her last note would infuriate Draco, or at least spite him, but it did not bother her. On the contrary, she was amused by the possibility, and found herself wondering what would be his reaction. Of course it was only a momentary, fleeting thought, to which she paid no attention.

She hurried to the _Daily Prophet_'s editorial as soon as she arrived in Diagon Alley. For a brief, yet highly disturbing moment, she forgot her way there. Before going through her usual early morning routine of greetings, coffee and that morning's edition of the newspaper, she strode straight into Tomas Brooks' office, taking the dangerous liberty of not knocking, and closed the door politely behind her.

"Good morning, Mrs. Potter," drawled Tomas casually, not even lifting his gaze from the paperwork on his desk. "I would gladly enjoy the latest office gossip over a cup of black coffee with you, but unfortunately I have work to do. Something that, if I'm not crudely mistaken, you have to…"

"That is what I came here to talk to you about, Mr. Brooks. And it is Miss Weasley again," Ginny replied calmly, taking a seat in front of the desk.

Tomas arched a fairly shaped eyebrow and glanced at the red-haired witch. "_Miss_… Weasley, don't tell me you've changed your mind and that you don't want your job anymore, because I would be highly displeased…"

"No, no, no!" Ginny hurried to assure her boss that it was no where near what she came here to talk about. "I am very grateful for this, Mr. Brooks. I actually came here to talk to you about my assignment…"

Tomas froze for an instant, pursing his lips and returning his gaze to the paperwork. "What about it?" he intoned uninterestedly.

"Well… I was wondering if it perhaps was possible to give the assignment to somebody else…"

"No."

Ginny blinked at the impetuosity and bleakness of Tomas' reply, a bit taken aback. "Umm… well, it is just such an important article for the paper and I was under the impression this should be taken care of by someone with a little more experience than me," Ginny tried to reason.

"No, Miss Weasley," Tomas responded, keeping his eyes locked uncaringly on the papers on his desk.

Ginny stifled a frown, knowing it wouldn't do her any good. She was on a probation period, she knew that, so it wasn't really of her rights to ask for reassignments. But there was something very strange about the way Tomas refused her so sharply and rigidly. "Well, you see, Mr. Brooks… actually, Mr. Malfoy and I, we have some" she paused, keeping the images and familiar scents from overflooding her. "-history, from Hogwarts, Sir… and not of the good kind. I would really not want to compromise my journalistic integrity, since…"

"The issue is not up for discussion, Miss Weasley. You are to do the piece on Malfoy Incorporated. Case closed," Tomas drawled out, scribbling something down. "Now, if you don't mind, be sure to close the door behind yourself as you leave."

Ginny frowned, huffing exaggeratedly and marched out of the office. Not closing the door behind herself.

It's not like she was that disappointed by not being taken off the assignment. To be completely truthful, she was quite relieved, though wasn't sure why. What disturbed her was the abrupt way Tomas declined her request, without even having their usual argument where both shouted at each with increasing volume. And at the end he didn't even give up gracefully, admitting she was right and he was wrong and offering to double her salary.

Ginny paused as the thought flashed through her mind, glancing sideways at nothing in particular. _Okay, so he didn't actually offer to double the wage. Nor did he ever admitted being wrong… But of course, he always is…_

Now, Ginny was standing in front of the front door to her childhood home, a place that was traced with so many joyous memories, and was completely petrified by the bustling noises coming from within. Tomorrow was the scheduled family gathering, as she remembered on her way here, so the building was probably over-packed with siblings, sisters-in-laws, and dozens of nieces and nephews. Ginny stifled a pitiful whimper and calculated in her head all the hugs, kisses and stories she would have to distribute tonight and the next day.

"FRED! GEORGE! Get that thing away from your brother this instant!" Molly's voices thundered through the building, quaking the already shady structure. "You two are not too old for me to bring my wand to your bottoms!"

Ginny couldn't help but smile at the familiar sound of her Mother berating the twins, feeling all the warm memories of her childhood flooding her mind, taking it off Harry - _Or Draco…_ - if only for awhile. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and gathered all the mental stability she could muster for the moment. She opened the door.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So how was it? I hope you weren't disappointed! And don't worry, it is not the end either :D 


	11. Family Matters

**Disclaimer:** Listen up, this is NOT MINE! I'm just using the characters for my own twisted pleasure. Dance, puppets, _dance!_

**Author's Notes: **hides head in shame I've no excuses and all punishment is useless. I am a horrid creature, I know that, and for that I am immensely sorry. All I can do is wish for your forgiveness and willingness to stick by this story, despite my appallingly unstable updating schedule.

On a higher note - I would like to thank the best cat in all Scotlum, **kaytee83**, for her (though, lengthily awaited) obfuscating beta-ing

In my sleazy attempt to infiltrate the LJ's Draco/Ginny community >) , I've started a blog there, a link to which can be found on my Author's Page. Any questions, requests, complaints and threats should be directed there. Also would be provided information regarding my updates, lack of updates, writer's blocks and inner turmoils of a creative mind. :sighs:

Don't hate me :hides:

* * *

Sinister tendrils of pure numbing dismay slithered out of her horrid dreams, manifesting into invisible threads that coiled through the chilly air and to her pitifully whimpering form. Just as the murky images became clearer, revealing to her the terrors of her subconscious mind, the threads tightened around her frail neck, preventing the precious oxygen from entering her lungs.

Ginny sprung up, eyes squeezed shut in fear, clutching at her throat frantically, trying to break the bonds of her dreams and gasp for air as a single frightened cry escaped her lips. Coughing and choking, she felt a dull yet reeling pain shoot through her right arm. She grabbed at the ache, wishing to rub it away, but it only made the pain worse. She yelped, becoming aware of the sharp and stinging sensation in her left wrist, discovering upon touching it that it was numbingly cold. She tried to soothe it as well with the prominent circular motions, but again made the pain worse. Her eyes flung open with surprise and she stared down only to discover blackness in front of her, instead of the mornings light. Widening her eyes even more as the fear seethed inside of her, she clutched at her face, disoriented and frustrated by the nightmare.

The door flung open suddenly and a banishing curse was roared by a familiar voice instantaneously. The darkness began to melt away from her sight and the well-known colors of her room returned. Instinctively she glanced at her hand and discovered a strange mark, frostbite, circling her wrist with ghastly imprints of four searing bracelets. Eyes drawn with pure horror to her right arm, Ginny discovered there the same morbid bracelets, gracing her fair skin with sickeningly violet blooms.

Suddenly swept away into a firm cage of warm embrace, Ginny clung for her dear life as the tears and pitiful sobs escaped her quivering body in waves of helpless frustration. Keeping her eyes tightly shut, she felt the pain unhurriedly ebbing away, taking her fear along with it. Still, she refused to let go of the protective arms around her and only when the last traces of weakness slipped out of her, she breathed in relief.

"Gin… a-are you okay?"

The voice seemed distantly familiar, but it did not fit the scene in the least. What was Ron doing in the Malfoy Manor?

Slowly blinking her eyes open, Ginny gave herself a couple of moments to take in her surrounding. She was indeed in her room, but she was not at the lavish emerald chamber of the Manor anymore, but at the small and cozy room she once occupied in her childhood. She was at the Burrow! Now she started to remember - yesterday she returned to the Burrow after work, because she decided to leave Malfoy Manor right before he--

Ginny nipped that train of thought before it could escalate further down the memory lane, not wishing to relive the images. Not that they were bad images to relive, though.

"Gin."

Ron's voice pierced through her reverie once again and she forced herself to let go. She glanced at Ron, momentarily noticing the heavy dosage of concern in his eyes and couldn't help the scarlet blush as it crept up her neck. She hadn't cried like this in front of him since her fourth year at Hogwarts and now seeing him try to read her like he did in their earlier years was more than awkward for her. She was a grown woman now and the fact that her brother still deemed her his little baby sister was quite unbecoming. She straightened her posture subtly, gazing at him.

"That was one hell of a nightmare, Ginbug, to make you scream," he intoned suddenly, his concern shifting into something careless. "But I guess I would've screamed as well, if I had the Ferret in my dreams…" Ron forced out a laugh, rubbing the back of his head.

_Ferret?_ "Draco?" Ginny's voice was incredulous, lacing with hidden indignation regarding Ron's accusation that she had screamed in her sleep. But what did Draco have to do with it? She didn't dream of him. She dreamt of… of--

Immediately her eyes darted to her left wrist, noticing that she was absentmindedly cradling it in her other hand. Nothing. Not even a mark of the horrible frostbite that crested her complexion a minute ago. Same with the bruise - not even a scratch. How could this be? How could these bruises sprout out of her dreams and then fade into nothingness in a matter of mere moments?

Harry.

Her eyes shot back up at Ron, wide with sudden memories and gripping desire to disbelief. "There was someone in the room… who was it?" she mouthed her fears, boring her hazel eyes into her brother.

Ron's expression shifted instantly from sheepish discomfort to baffled ignorance, an expression so often decorating his features in adolescence. "What do you mean, Gin? There was no one in the room…"

Ginny froze at his words, dull fear from the back of her mind begins to intertwine into her consciousness. "What do you mean there was no one in my room? Whoever--_what_ever was in the room! Whatever tried to strangle me!" she proceeded, despair rising number of notches at a time as Ron's expression of utter misunderstanding settled even deeper.

"Gin…"

"No, I heard you. You banished it! I heard the curse! I heard your voice, Ron!" Ginny insisted desperately, knowing what she felt and heard was true.

"What curse? Ginny, what are you talking about? I don't even have my wand on me…"

Her eyes darted to his hands as he lifted them up to show that indeed he carried no wand. But then how could he banish that… that thing? She averted her eyes, her gaze bleak as upsetting realization settled in. If he had no wand, he could not banish whatever was present minutes ago, and if he couldn't have banished it, she would've been dead by now. So, that must mean there was no one here to begin with.

But, no! She felt it! She couldn't breathe as if someone's abnormally thin fingers were tightening almost lovingly around her throat. And the marks! The bruise and the frostbite! The pain and the cold! She couldn't have just imagined it! Could she…?

"Gin," Ron spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically comforting, as he held her tightly by her shoulders, forcing her wandering stare to focus on him. "You had a nightmare," he explained softly. "You screamed in your dream - called for Malfoy. I heard your scream and came here. You were sitting on your bed with eyes shut tight and sobbing. Ginbug, it was only a dream. No one tried to strangle you…"

Ginny looked up into her brother's eyes and saw the troubled concern. He was saying the truth - there really was no one in her room. It must have been only a dream. How else could you explain that, right?

Ginny nodded slowly and curled closer to him once again. As usual, he smelled of sea breeze and sugerquills and she found his presence more than enough to chase the doubts away. She closed her eyes for a moment as he held her closely, fighting the streams of tears that threatened to fall from her bloodshot eyes again, but opened them quickly as darkness surrounded her for a moment.

"You're okay?" Ron's voice broke the silence again as he drew her away a little to look into her eyes.

She nodded and rubbed her eyes. _Except for the fact that I've completely embarrassed myself in front of my brother… how could I be so foolish? Of course it was just a dream! Damn it_!

"Well, now that you are alright, perhaps you'd like to explain why you have cried out Malfoy's first name in your dream?" he glanced at her with shifty suspicion, deciding - as always - to lighten the atmosphere with humor.

Ginny couldn't help the blush as it invaded her cheeks with no warning. "I-- uh-- we--" she stammered, for some unidentified reason, feeling busted. "I-- How should I know?" she snapped finally, scampering out of the bed and over to the commode. "I don't even remember what I dreamt about."

Ron grimaced suddenly in childish disgust as thoughts of a certain sort of dreams that caused crying out names flashed through his mind. But he stomped the thought out ruthlessly, considering that Ginny was far too upset for that kind of a dream. On other hand - he thought to himself - he might've considered a quick and painless death had the Ferret ever visited _him_ in a dream. But that was him.

"Gin, you do understand that you seem too guilty and too flushed for my comfort?" he continued to prod, her strange reaction to his humorous suspicions sowing seeds of real doubt in his mind. "Did anything happen between you and Malfoy?"

Ginny stopped her rampaging through the drawers and turned to face her brother, jutting out her chin defiantly while her fingers fidgeted nervously. "No, nothing happened. What makes you think something happened? Nothing happened… at all. I barely spoke to the man, actually. He worked most of the time. And when he didn't, I avoided him. Why would anything ever happen? Besides, he's a former Slytherin. Ew, Snake-cooties and all that…"

Ginny wanted to smack herself for the obvious blurting session she just underwent. Why, oh why did presence in this house make her retrace steps back into the awkward and diffident state of her adolescence?

Ron already opened his mouth to respond when the commanding voice of Molly Weasley left no room for disobedience to her invitation for breakfast. Ginny grinned, thanking her mother for the timing and shooed her older brother out of the room, telling him to hurry up and reminding him he did not need an angry mother on his back.

Slumping onto the closed door, Ginny cursed yet again her blathering and shook her head, returning to the wardrobe. She found there some of her old clothes, shabbier than those she'd grown accustomed to these past years, but still fitting her dainty form and full stitches and lapels that brought back many seemingly forgotten memories.

She took a quick shower, knowing that neither did she needed an angry Molly on her back, got dressed and hastily tidied her room, before heading downstairs.

* * *

Halting to a stop on the last step of the shaky staircase, Ginny's eyes widened in shock as her ears were deafened by the indescribable amounts of noise emanating the scene before her. Every square inch of the Burrow's first floor - beginning with the scurrying redheads from the front entrance and the foyer, continuing to the loud redheads fleeing the halls, to the elder red-haired wizards that reigned the living room - was packed by a chattering, laughing, screaming, running, gossiping and a reminiscing member of the Weasley and Prewett Clans. When Hermione mentioned a small family gathering, she seemed to have forgotten to mention the fact that Molly decided to gather three generations of well-bred pureblooded families.

_Eep, no…_ Ginny quipped to herself, noticing baby Matthew. _Make it four generations…_

Ginny frowned, not quite understanding the mass amounts of red-haired heads. Yes, indeed Weasleys and Prewetts were known for this particular prominent feature, but not the Donovans, nor the Hollifields, nor the other pureblooded wizarding families they were married into. Now it seemed there was not a single blonde, brown or brunette head among the prattling crowd.

She was about to make a bee-line back upstairs and slink away from the crowd unnoticed, but was unfortunately spotted by her mother, who greeted her with an enthusiastic cry that drew attention to her and a steaming pot of vegetable ragout for her to taste, while she hauled the younger witch to the kitchen. There, the scenery did not quite change - the usually empty kitchen occupied at the moment over a dozen of female witches, all chopping, slicing, stirring and brewing.

Ginny stood at the entrance to the kitchen, with the ragout pot hovering beside her still waiting for her approval and her mind desperately trying to work out a way to escape this overstuffed nightmare. Don't get her wrong; she loved each and every member of her family, but--but--but… separately!

A quick glance out of the kitchen window showed her she would not find refuge in the garden, since the Weasley grounds were now swarmed with hordes of wild and uncontrollable children that screamed and shouted like packs of ravenous animals, and littered the garden all the way to the lake with uncountable red-haired groups.

"Ginny! You're finally up!"

"Hey there, Ginbug! How are you, little one?"

"Oh well, I'm fi--"

"Oh, you're so skinny! Look at you? Don't you eat? Don't they feed you there in that fancy editorial of yours?"

"Well, actually they don--"

"Ginny-sunshine! Oh you look not a day over 16! What's your secret?"

"I, uh--"

"Oh, but you should take a Sleeping Draught, Kitty-Gin… your eyes are all red and puffy…"

"…"

"Oh, what are you on about, Helga? Ginny looks just fine! Come here, come hug your Auntie Moira, you little rascal!"

Ginny took all the hugging and cheek-pinching and figure-praising as well as to be expected that early in the morning, but kept throwing searching looks out for more familiar faces. It seems Hermione and the other sisters-in-law weren't present in the kitchen, and that the culinary experiments were left to the more-experienced witches.

Ginny couldn't quite understand how this house could fill with so many Weasleys and Prewetts over night! Just last night there were only the close family - her brothers with their wives and children - and they've only waited on Charlie. _What,_ she thought to herself incredulously. _He took a detour from Romania and decided to pick up most of the family tree? He couldn't just be satisfied with bringing us gifts? He had to bring lost family members as well?_

"Ginny! So what do you think?" an eager voice of Molly sliced through Ginny's self-pity.

"I should've slept a while longer?" Ginny suggested quietly, still watching with horrified expression the buzzing kitchen.

"What?" Molly frowned in confusion at her only daughter. "The stew, dear! What do you think about the stew! I think it is done, but your Aunt Annie seems to differ," Molly explained her prods, glancing sideways at Annie Weasley, wife of Uncle Graham, with hidden haughtiness in her pleasant voice. Molly Weasley was not a haughty woman unless it came to the kitchen. She saw herself better cook than most (if not all) other Weasley or Prewetts wives she came across and was proven right more than on one occasion.

To be truthful, Molly had only once encountered a cook that could give her a run for her money, and it was definitely not one of the present plump, gossipy, loud members of the Clans. It was in fact a very gaunt, very respective, very inhibited Potions Master from Hogwarts - Severus Snape. Professor Snape could whip up the best creamed-duck with baked potatoes that would leave the patrons dreaming of seconds for weeks on end. All thanks to his personal collection of unattainable herbs that granted not only more memorable flavors, but richer and smoother taste.

Molly beamed delightedly at the thoughts. The Potions Master has been more than generous with his recipes and his herbs, claiming that he as well saw Molly as his sole equal in the culinary arena and thus would be proud to share his secrets with her. That is why when others dared to second-guess her in the kitchen her voice undertook traces of doubt and slight indignation.

Ginny blinked out of her petrified daze and finally smiled at her mother, tentatively tasting of the ragout. She closed her eyes as the memories of her careless childhood flooded her mind at the taste of her mother's cookery. Gods, she missed this…

"Well, dear?" Molly prodded for an answer, almost poking Ginny in the ribs.

"Excellent, Mum. It is excellent, as to be expected," Ginny smiled at her mother, laughing as the older witch's chest puffed out in pride and she turned to face Aunt Annie.

"You heard that, Annie? Excellent, the girl says! E-xce-llent! Now, go hover over someone else's kettles!"

Ginny snickered, watching Molly shoo Aunt Annie away from her pots in the fireplace.

"Oi! Oyster-Girl!" a sudden baritone voice of one of her twin brothers resounded through the endless blathering.

Ginny turned around just in time to be plucked off her feet and slumped over Fred's shoulder, squealing with juvenile delight as her older brother span her around, making her dizzy. "Okay, okay, I give up, I give UP!" Ginny yelped out as her feet accidentally smacked into a random cousin.

"My apologies, Mafalda…" Fred grinned sheepishly, saluting at her with Ginny still hoisted over his shoulder and carefully put his sister down after cousin Mafalda huffed indignantly and stalked away.

"Look what you did," Ginny tutted, smacking Fred on his arm.

"You're just jealous cause it was me who got to whack her," he laughed in return, rubbing his arm.

"Well, those were _my_ feet, so technically it was me who got to whack her, so--" Ginny stuck out her tongue at her brother, feeling immature and comfortable about it.

Fred laughed some more, settling with a shake of his head. "I guess me and George are not the only ones who feel compelled to act our old selves again…"

"I'll say… tell me, brother, would you happen to know anything about the mops of red hair on top of each and every guest?" Ginny asked with a smile, watching her brother squirm in fake guilt.

"Well… muggles have those ridiculous pointy caps they wear at parties. George and I thought it would be amusing to color them red… a customized Weasley party cap," Fred beamed proudly.

"Mhmm…" Ginny narrowed her eyes at her brother, propping both fists on her dainty hips. "And how, may I ask, you've done that?"

"A quick improvisation of the Weasley-Do - 'Liquid Weasley-Do'! Stay away from the punchbowl, Sis…"

Ginny laughed throwing a glance around herself at the guests. Every single one of the witches and wizards surrounding her were pure redheads - some lighter, some darker - but all had the stunningly bright colors of fire atop of their heads. On some, as Ginny noticed at closer inspection, even sprouted dozens or so freckles to cover their noses and cheeks in light tan hues. _Brilliant,_ she thought to herself. _Make the whole world a Weasley._

Ginny drew her gaze away from the distant relatives, searching the crowd for the second twin. If Fred was here, George had to be somewhere near. Unless…

"Where is George, anyway?" the red-haired witch asked guardedly, knowing that if her brothers parted while being in the Burrow, it meant one was creating a diversion while the other one did something that wouldn't please their mother in the least.

"Well, I'll tell you this, Sis. He is not out in the back yard, supplying two dozen impish rugrats with dungbombs and teaching them how to use them," Fred winked at her, disturbingly bright gleams of mischief sparkling in his dark-brown eyes.

Ginny smiled at her brother, thanking gods the twins would never change, when laces of doubts crept into her mind. "Wait, if George is _not_ out there supplying hyperactive Weasleys with potentially lethal pranks and you _are_ here talking to me… who is watching Mum?"

Fred's face suddenly paled as his smile faded quickly and his jaw dropped slightly. "Bollocks."

A loud scream and a loud bang (which, experts would easily identify as a accidentally dropped dungbomb) reverberated through the entire shaky structure, drawing startled attention of the guests towards the back yard, where roars of the Weasley matriarch were carried over miles on end. "GEORGE!"

The back door slammed and in dashed a very troubled-looking George Weasley. He scanned the kitchen quickly, yelping as stomping sounds came from behind the door and jolted over to his twin's side. "Brother dear, I believe the right terminology for our situation is 'Busted'…"

"FRED! I KNOW YOU'RE IN ON THIS AS WELL! YOU JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU TWO!"

The infamous twins exchanged horrified glances, reckoning in so many specific details their Mother's wrath. "Gotta go, Sis!" they blurted simultaneously, taking off in the other direction from their mother, who just in that moment came barging into the kitchen with her wand raised high.

Ginny couldn't suppress the uncontrollable giggles as the two grown wizards cowered away from their Mother's wand, taking refuge in the cupboard under the stairs, which the matriarch found appropriate to lock. Her brothers hadn't changed a bit and she was ever so pleased to discover this in the warm and loving surrounding of the Burrow.

"_Ginny_! You're awake!"

Ginny turned around at the sound of a familiar voice, watching the tall and slim figure of Aunt Eloise trotting towards her with arms spread widely and followed by Uncle Henry. She cringed as the woman's bony arms encircled her forcefully, crashing the air right out of her lungs, and deafening her with screeches of joy. Memories of Aunt Eloise's hugs entwined with the hugs of her Twin brothers', constantly marred with increasing lack of oxygen. Unfortunately, if she knocked Aunt Eloise's jaw with the top of her head and stomped on her foot, it might've seemed inappropriate. So instead, as usually she turned to Uncle Henry for help, pleading him wordlessly and then glaring at him as he unsuccessfully tried to suppress his amusement.

Finally complying, Uncle Henry moved closer, snaking his hands, which were ever so skilled in such rescues, around the skinny former-blonde witch's middle and gently pulled her away from Ginny. "There, there, Eloise… I'm sure the girl would appreciate some air, darling."

Eloise resounded a protest, but let go as usual, smacking Henry's hands away as if they were a mere nuisance. "I haven't seen this girl for years, Henry. And if I wish to smother her with a bit of a hug, you be sure I certainly would," she huffed at her husband's obvious amusement.

"Certainly, darling. Certainly…" Henry sniggered, soothing his wife's indignation with a delicate hand at the small of her back, while Ginny hurried to steady her breath before the upcoming interrogation.

This seemed to appease Aunt Eloise and she turned away from her husband, though keeping generally closely to him, and turned to the already-breathing Ginny with a beaming smile. "Oh dear, you look all grown up! It gets harder every time to believe you are the same bundle of joy your mother flaunted about when you've been born," Aunt Eloise smiled kindly, apparently trying to keep her tears at bay.

"Ah, well Aunt Eloise, you know what time does to people," Ginny quipped with an almost apologetic smile.

"Yes…" Aunt Eloise agreed absently, still watching Ginny with gleaming eyes. "But come, come dear, tell me everything!" the older witch prodded Ginny, leading her to the table and taking a seat across from her. "How's everything? How's your job? How's Harry?"

Ginny's smile faulted at the mention of her husband's name and she found her fingers fidget almost instinctively. An uncomfortable feeling settled at the base of her stomach and she looked away, watching the many witches stirring cauldrons and pots, while ostensibly trying to think what to answer first. _What can I say? "Oh, Harry's fine! He'd become an abusive maniac, but he is fine, just fine!" Oh gods, why didn't I stay at bed long--_ She remembered just why and breathed dryly. _That's why…_

"Yeah, how is Harry?" Uncle Henry's voice brought her out of her thoughts and back to the inquiring couple. "Such a shame he had to work this weekend. Such a shame…"

Ginny frowned at Uncle Henry and was about to ask him what he was on about when, Molly suddenly popped between them.

"Oh, Eloise! Just the person I've been looking for! You must come and help me out there. I've got a million things and more to do and I just can't seem to--"

"Yes, yes, of course Molly dear. Just in a sec--"

"Oh, no! This cannot wait!" Molly protested, ushering Aunt Eloise quickly out of her comfy seat and sending her to the other side of the kitchen. "Henry!" she added quickly, noticing her brother-in-law was about to take his wife's seat. "Could you be a dear and call for my boys, please? Tell them to start setting the tables up. They're in the living room, thank you so much!" Molly cooed sweetly.

"Oh, but it's only midday…"

"Well, you have to always be prepared, Henry. You never know when the nighttime might sneak up on you. Now, off you go…" she steered him gently with a wide smile towards the living room. The puzzled wizard agreed with a smile and took his leave, promising Ginny to return and have a chat later.

Ginny watched her mother steering the relatives away from her with such ease and such great skill, that she was finally able to react only when Molly smiled at her briskly and turned to leave. "Mum!"

Molly paused, turning around and glancing at Ginny with a questioning expression veiling her subtle awkwardness. "Yes, dear?"

"What… what was that about?"

"What was what about, dear?" Molly countered with transparent innocence.

"Aunt Eloise and Uncle Henry think…" Ginny was about to say Harry's name, but suddenly the word got caught in her throat and a chill ran down her spine and she found herself unable. She gulped hard, confused by this sudden reaction and frowned at herself. She was becoming unbearably squeamish and she must do something about it.

Glancing back at her mother, she realized she needn't an answer to whatever question she meant to pose to the older witch. Everything was obvious. "Umm, nothing… never mind."

Molly's gaze lingered a bit longer on her daughter's suddenly pallid face and she inhaled tiredly, quickly hiding all traces of her grief from her features as she hurried back to orchestrate the preparations for the today's dinner.

* * *

Evening crept up to the Burrow right at the end of a vigorous Quidditch rematch between the Weasley siblings and the Prewett cousins. With Ron as the skillful Keeper, twins as the talented yet flamboyant Beaters (Molly finally let them out of the locked cupboard, after they've promised to be on their best behavior for the rest of the weekend), Charlie and Bill as the expert Chasers and Ginny as the lithe Seeker, even Percy was talked into playing at a Chaser and soon enough was discovered to be disturbingly good at that.

The Weasley team won the second time as well (290/110), after the shameful first match (220/50) where the Prewett's Seeker didn't even has the chance to reach a high velocity when Ginny had already spotted and captured the enchanted Snitch. The cousins were ribbed good-naturedly and were promised a second rematch first thing in the morning.

Ginny and others barged into the house from the front porch (being careful to avoid the back porch, since preparations for the dinner were in the middle of heated occurrences), pecked present mothers, wives or children on their cheeks and scurried upstairs for a quick shower and a change of clothes. Of course for the males of that group there was nothing quick about it, since there were eleven of them having to share the single bathroom on the second floor.

Ginny, her cousin Georgia (who was named after the same George Prewett her brother was named after, and who invented the Family Clock that showed the location of each member of the family at a given time) and her surprisingly youthful Aunt Felicity, who was found to be one hell of a Chaser, shared a smaller bathroom on the third floor, but since all three of them were very considerate, they've finished quicker than the men and let them use the second bathroom as well.

Ginny giggled, closing the door behind her, after having seen Fred and George fencing Robbie and Tommy in the hallways with towels instead of sabers that were enchanted into a slightly stiffer state. A yelp resonated through the door and Ginny burst into another fit of laughter, guessing that Tommy finally managed to break through Fred's impenetrable defenses and stabbed him with the towel in the stomach.

Slightly shaking her head at the general childishness that surrounded this house at the moment, Ginny smiled widely, making her way to her wardrobe. Humming quietly to herself, she scanned the robes that still fit her, wanting to wear something festive for the upcoming dinner. Downstairs she could clearly hear her mother's voice coordinating troops of hungry children as they obediently ran in and out of the house, placing the plates and silverware along with the ongoing flow of delectable dishes on the never-ending table. Also, a strong voice of Aunt Jasmine, who happened to be a head of an Auror squadron before she retired, was barking out orders at the men to rearrange seats, charm trees and enchant globes of light to hover above the dining family.

Ginny glanced momentarily out of the window, gaping at the massive dome of shimmering light that crowned the dining tables that had probably been enchanted to link into each other. It seemed as if the garden itself had spurred a bubble of daylight and consumed the table, and the people that scampered around could enter the bubble at their will. There was only one word to describe her family's handiwork and that word was written all over Ginny's gawking face - _Brilliant_.

She quickly returned to her wardrobe, wishing to join the others and help set the table. She continued to scan through the rack until her eyes landed on the deep emerald robes, safely engulfed in a protective bubble of the Preservation Charm. Her eyes gleamed with recognition as she drew the gorgeous robes out of the closet, running a timid hand over the delicate embroidery of coiling flowers and miniature dragons outlined with tiny specs of what she dared to presume, were precious stones.

She could still clearly remember the day she received the package and the friendly tawny owl with necklace of sable feathers that plopped it on her bed in the Gryffindor sixth year girls' dormitory. There was no note, but she could easily see that the gift was from Harry - he was the only one she knew that could afford such an attire and she had told him just the previous day that green was her favorite color.

That night she wore those robes to the Graduation Ball she went on with Harry. That was the night Harry finally told her how he felt. This was the night of Voldemort's final attack.

Ginny breathed heavily at the memories. This dress was magnificent. And most probably cursed. She shouldn't be even thinking about wearing it now.

But there she was, slipping into the comfortable material and admiring herself in the mirror, as the Preservation Charm automatically dissipated. A hindered female instinct congratulated her for fitting into the dress robes she wore almost ten years ago, but she squashed it quickly, rolling her eyes at the ridiculously inconsequential thought.

She left the room and headed for the kitchen to help her mother, but was brusquely sent back upstairs to fetch for Hermione, who had went up to take a nap and had already been awoken three times at least by different family members. Ginny complied with a smile, climbing to the second floor and searching for the room Hermione and Ron had stayed in. She knocked softly on the door, pushing it hesitantly and peeked in, noticing the light in the small bathroom that was attached on the other side of the room (or, to be more specific, was attached to the room once they've moved in because of Hermione's constant issues with her bladder).

"Hermione… are you here?"

Muffled sounds came from the bathroom, followed by some coughing and indignant grumbling, in which Ginny was sure to hear few oaths regarding her brother's "swimmers". "Yes, I'm here, Gin. I'll be out in a minute…"

Giggling as the oaths seemed to continue through a gush of flowing water, Ginny noticed a mirror right in front of her and ran her hands over the smooth fabric, straightening the non-existent wrinkles. Suddenly, feeling something odd disturbing the surface in the area of her left pocket, she dug into it, retrieving an old, crumpled piece of deteriorating parchment. She glanced up when Hermione finally emerged from the bathroom, smiling at her as she slowly waddled over to the toilet and took a seat in front of the mirror.

"I swear to you Ginny, if this baby won't come out soon, I am going to paddle it out of there with a spatula," Hermione huffed exasperatedly, glancing at Ginny through the mirror.

Ginny smiled with sympathy and walked over, taking a seat on the bed beside the toilet. "It will happen soon, Mione. Don't worry about it…"

"How can I not to, Gin?" Hermione asked with a sad smile, veiling deeper concerns with an inhibited tone. "I… we have tried so long… we wanted this baby so much and now… now…"

Ginny's eyes widened slightly in alarm at the sight of hesitant tears streaming down the rosy cheeks and she braced her friend tightly, rubbing her back in circles just like her mother used to do when she got upset. She coaxed the older witch out of the chair and onto the bed beside her and continued holding her closely. "It is alright, Hermione. Everything is fine. What… what is wrong?"

Hermione sniffed softly, clinging onto her best friend for some support as the words rolled off her tongue. "It is just seems that… the baby isn't coming out, because it doesn't want us…". She sobbed loudly into the redhead's shoulder, burying her face away in shame.

"Hermione…" Ginny cooed gently, cajoling the girl out of her tears. "Do not be ridiculous, honey. Of course this baby wants you! He's known you for nine months now and has learned how wonderful and caring and smart you are. I bet it is just dying to see you in person and not - you know - inside out…"

Hermione snorted, breaking into suppressed laughter afterwards, and finally let go of Ginny, who reached over to the toilet to get a box of tissues and offered them to the crying witch.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said quietly, wiping away the last traces of her insecurities from her eyes. "I didn't want to upset you…"

"Nonsense, Mione. You didn't upset me at all… just reminded me that soon there will be another redheaded rascal running around the grounds," Ginny smiled, playfully tugging at a lock of bushy brown hair.

"I hope so…" Hermione breathed deeply and smiled at Ginny, who poked her in her bulging belly affectionately. Hermione giggled, swatting Ginny's fingers away and tilted her head to the piece of parchment still clutched in Ginny's hand, unfolded. "What is it?"

"Umm, this?" Ginny glanced down at the parchment and brought it up to the light, to expect it. "I don't know… I just found it in these robes."

"Hey, aren't these the robes…?"

"Yeah, it is…"

"Oh, they're lovely," Hermione said absently, reaching out for the parchment absently.

Ginny glanced at her for a moment with confused expression, handing her the paper and watching her unfold it carefully and scanning it. "What's it say?"

"Hey, that's my handwriting!"

"Really? That's what it says?" Ginny asked mockingly, rolling her eyes. She moved closer to look over Hermione's shoulder, catching the sight of almost completely faded black ink on the tattered parchment before the older witch quickly crumpled it again and tossed it carelessly onto the toilet.

"Eh, a list of books I probably wanted to borrow from the library…" Hermione shrugged it off, standing up and starting to pull Ginny towards the door. "Come on… Molly probably is contemplating sending up the cavalry to get us down."

Ginny giggled, following her sister-in-law, the piece of parchment completely forgotten from her mind. A single inconspicuous thought fluttered through her mind as she descended the staircase on her way down - _What did Hermione's books list do in the robes she fought the Final Battle in?_ But the thought was not at all salient or important as the moment Ginny entered the kitchen and yet again her mother sent her off to fetch her wand from the living room before she came to the tables.

Ginny sighed heavily and trudged back into the living room, shooing the last of wandering children to the back yard, before she grabbed her mother's wand and headed back again. But alas, it seemed the Fates were against her reaching the celebration since exactly when she was about to leave, the doorbell rang through out the living room, drawing her attention to the door. She clenched her fists and stomped over to the door, swearing that if was another relative she was going to hex him or her to next Tuesday. She dragged a calming breath and counted till ten before swinging the door open and forgetting everything at once as her hazel eyes collided with a pair of mesmerizing silver ones.

On the front porch of the Burrow did not stand yet another member of the Weasley or Prewett's clans, but a tall, seemingly unfitting vision of Draco Malfoy, gripping bags with the emblem of Madam Malkin's shop on them and rigidly clenching his jaws.

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**Author's Notes: **Next chapter should be interesting. Lets hope it won't take me a year to get it out Xl

Unfortunately, it had come to my attention that interactive stories are not permitted on this, so I had to drop the idea.

And a final note: this story has been submitted to DracoGinny awards on MagicalTheory dot com. If you enjoy the story and have a few moments to spare, I would greatly appreciate the contribution. Thank you

Hope you enjoyed:smiles:


	12. Weasleyfying a Malfoy

**Disclaimer:** Listen up, this is NOT MINE! I'm just using the characters for my own twisted pleasure. Dance, puppets, _dance!_

**Author's Notes:** Kudos to the magnificent **Jen** for all her tremendous help. Lets wish her the bestest of the bestests :D

As stated in the previous chapter, I've started a diary on LJ. Don't be afraid to friend cause I really don't bite... too much.

And the last thing. Since my updating schedule is a real shame, I decided to start a Mailing-List for your convenience. If you wish to be notified when the next chapter is posted, please leave your email in a review :)

Other than that, enjoy!

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**12 : Weasleyfying a Malfoy**

Draco Malfoy considered himself a very reasonable person. Clear reason and healthy logic was what helped him recollect the pieces of Malfoy Empire after his Father's demise, reshape it to fit his own vision of power and profit, and reemerge yet again into the social and business wizarding British society stronger and better than before. Healthy logic was what prompted him to switch alliances about a decade ago when he was one of the firsts to notice that the Dark Lord's attempt to overthrow the Ministry, were not going according to his supposedly immaculate plan. Good sense was what aided him countless times in dealing with an enraged Voldemort, skillfully hiding his true loyalties while the wreck of a wizard raked his mind with a fine comb, and accounting to every seemingly faultless failure with flawless charm and explanations.

It was while dealing with a certain redheaded witch that healthy logic and clear reason were catapulted right out of his mind with the brutality of a rabid hippogriff. For it undoubtedly wasn't clear reason that prodded him to rescue the girl's father, risking his own precious life after even the Order members - with great pain in their hearts and crocodile tears in their eyes - decided that Arthur Weasley was an acceptable sacrifice for the sake of the Greater Good. Nor was it healthy logic that cajoled him into taking the youngest Weasley into his house, threatening her superior into repositioning her, taking up the sodden Boy Who Lived (after quite unintentionally strolling near the Daily Prophet's editorial after work-hours with no desire whatsoever to accompany the redhead back home safely), and on top of that assaulting her the previous morning when she told him she was returning back to her childhood house.

Albeit, the so-called assault was quite enjoyable to both parties, judging by the soft moans and content sighs of the little Weasley, but that was disregarded at the moment.

At the moment, Draco was mentally cursing himself and his newly acquired continuous lack of reason as he stood on the porch of the rickety shack that was the notorious Burrow. His restless hands were gripping Madam Malkin's shopping bags and his was mind reeling in search of better excuse than the one he initially stormed out of the Manor with.

All traces of coherent thoughts were lost for good when the door was swung open and before him stood a dainty form of the aforementioned redheaded witch, visibly trying to veil her irritation. He instantly tightened his grip on the shopping bags and clenched his jaw involuntarily in a well-trained attempt to keep his composure pristine; his eyes bore deeper into the unnerved witch.

The irritation was replaced by surprise, then by horror and confusion, and at last by a luscious scarlet blush mixed with traces of relief in her honey-coated eyes. She blinked couple of times, apparently to make sure that he was not a mirage or a twisted illusion of her mind and opened her mouth to say something, but closed it before any sound left her little pink lips. Her eyes traveled over his form, taking in the black robes he spent the day in, the carefully mussed locks of colorless blond hair and the scarcely flushed cheeks from the night-flight. Her eyes slipped to the shopping bags in his hands and the treacherous scarlet deepened upon her cheeks as she glanced back up to meet his eyes.

He tried to ignore the countless wonderful and terrifying things her soft questioning gaze and tantalizing blush did to his body, but was barely able to stand still under the scrutiny of her wandering eyes. Begrudgingly, he became self-conscious of the plain yet considerably expensive work robes, far less than perfect hair, and the stinging redness on his cheeks that most probably made him look like a common simpleton. He stopped himself from shifting his weight uncomfortably and steadied his eyes upon hers when they finally settled back onto his face.

Brown doe-like eyes bore into his mercury pools sending both wizards plummeting into the abysses of memories long forgotten that never truly existed. She heaved him up from under the burden just to gift him with yet another burden far more lethal yet all the more welcoming. Ancient worlds and entities collided with callously seething and simmering roars and destinies, like loosened threads, lost their initial pattern, disentangling and intertwining themselves into new forgotten paths that should have been.

But all that was overlooked by the oblivious pair standing on the threshold of the Burrow, both staring into the eyes of the other and refusing to be the firsts to speak.

"Ginny!" The familiar voice of Mrs. Weasley drifted between them from somewhere far away, shattering the moment into irreparable shards. "How long does it take to fetch a wand, dear? -Oh, Oh dear…"

Draco blinked the moment Ginny whirled around to face her mother, stuttering a guilty explanation for no apparent reason.

"I-- umm, we-- well, I…"

"Good evening, Mrs. Weasley," he decided to speak up, seeing as Ginny didn't really have any explanations to his presence at the threshold of their home. "You seem to look lovelier with every single time we meet. "

Recovering from the initial surprise, Mrs. Weasley smiled slightly as her cheeks shone rosily with the tiniest shadow of a blush. "Oh thank you, Draco dear. What are you doing here at this hour?" her voice was laced with her usual welcoming warmth, and Draco had to give the woman credit for her acting skills. He knew his uninvited appearance must cause her more discomfort than she let on.

"I apologize, Mrs. Weasley, for my intrusion at such an hour, but--"

"Nonsense, Draco dear, come in. Come in!"

Draco was so thunderstruck by the unexpectedly hearty reaction, his expression actually slipping for a moment from his usual collected self and his eyes widening in surprise when Mrs. Weasley ushered him into the house in such a manner that thwarted any thought of resistance. He threw a glance at Ginny, wordlessly asking her whether he should fear for his life, but she was as shocked by her mother as he was.

The last couple of times he visited the Burrow he was received with the acceptably detached politeness by Mr. Weasley as Mrs. Weasley wasn't present at those times. He never thought the Weasley matriarch would greet him with such enthusiastic hospitality. In fact he was quite sure that such a reaction coming from a Weasley towards a Malfoy was humanly impossible. That's why the notion of Mrs. Weasley welcoming him with such warmth was somewhat unsettling and nerve racking, causing his mind to dive into paranoid conspiracies and musings, while he was practically dragged out of the foyer and into the living room.

"Take a seat, dear. So what brings you here? Did you come to check up on Ginny?"

Draco hesitated for a moment before taking a seat on the sofa across from Mrs. Weasley. Something in the redheaded witch made him anxiously compliant, as he was sure angering her was not in his best interest. He could feel Ginny uncertainly enter the living room behind them and was watch him intently, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

He hesitated another moment before replying, licking his lips absently and extending the shopping bags in his hands to the Weasley matriarch. "Yes. Yes, I did. Also, I'm afraid Ginevra was in such hurry to leave the Manor that she left some of her clothing behind. I came here to return them and… oh--" His eyes slipped to the entrance of the kitchen and from there to the open door leading into the overcrowded back yard. "-- I can see that you're entertaining some guests now, so I'll be off --"

"Oh, we're just having a little family gathering. Why don't you stay, dear?" came the abrupt voice of Mrs. Weasley, so brusque and eager that it seemed to Draco she was waiting through his words just to ask him.

"Pardon me?" Draco blurted out quite awkwardly.

A scandalous "_What_?" followed immediately. It has come simultaneously from both Ginny and another voice that echoed from the entrance to the kitchen.

Draco glanced up and noticed the ever tall and ever lanky form of Ronald Weasley standing in the doorway, eyes gawking with confusion and visible displeasure at the present scene of his mother entertaining a Malfoy - Draco at that - in the Burrow's living room.

Draco smothered the smirk that threatened to appear, despite his own confusion and bewilderment, at Mrs. Weasley's offer. "Oh no, Mrs. Weasley. I could never intrude on a family occasion--"

"Nonsense, Draco dear. The more the merrier," Mrs. Weasley countered him stoically, her eyes gleaming with unfamiliar, to him, obstinacy.

"_Mum_!" Ron hissed through clenched teeth and stomped into the room, towering beside his mother and sending troubled glances at his younger sister. "Guests are waiting. Ferr--Mal--Dra--Malfoy… what are you doing here?" he asked almost pleasantly, if not for the dimly noticeable distaste on his face.

"Draco just dropped by to return some robes Ginny left at Malfoy Manor. Isn't that nice, dear?" Mrs. Weasley chirped in, smiling pleasantly up at Ron and back at Draco.

"Yes, yes, it is…" Ron agreed dismissively, surveying Draco suspiciously, as if expecting the small conceited boy to jump out of this suit of a respected grown man and to throw dungbombs at him or hex some horribly mucous skin condition upon his freckled face.

Somewhere at the back of Draco's mind a small voice continues to chant repeatedly, reminding him of Ginny's whereabouts. _She's behind you, behind you; she's looking, looking… _

He couldn't help but to chance a glance over his shoulder at the petite redhead. The confusion and surprise regarding her mother's actions were replaced by quiet discomfort. Noticing his eyes, she blinked couple of times, trying to muster all her lost wits into a single coherent thought and when that didn't work as she hoped, she just looked away.

Draco continued to look at her silently, until her eyes reluctantly slipped back to meet his. The silver in his eyes wavered into something else than the icy exterior and a small, almost unnoticeable smile tugged at his lips. Ginny blinked again, her eyes widening subtly as she fidgeted with a golden band on one of her fingers.

His heart suddenly sunk. The wedding ring.

He turned away abruptly, glancing at Mrs. Weasley with a perfectly polite smile, veiling the wrenching of his stomach.

"Well," Draco interrupted the wordless conversation between Molly Weasley and her son, which included glares, prodding and a lot of swatting by Mrs. Weasley, slowly standing up. "Though, I am appreciative of your warm invitation, Mrs. Weasley, I am afraid I cannot accept. "

"I will hear nothing of the sort, dear. No guest has ever declined an offer for a Weasley-cooked dinner and believe you me, you will not be the first," Mrs. Weasley responded briskly, standing up and readying herself to drag the fair-haired wizard by his robes, if such thing was necessary.

Draco's eyes slipped to the stout oak wand Mrs. Weasley retrieved from Ginny back in the foyer and which the redheaded matriarch now stroked absently. Draco allowed a small indulgent smile flatter past his lips and he closed his eyes for a moment and most imperceptibly shook his head. "Once again, Mrs. Weasley, thank you very much for your invitation, but I really should be heading back. I'm afraid I left important issues that must be taken care of immediately and I have already spent more time here, then I anticipated. I do wish you a fine evening," he bowed curtly and made his way to the foyer before the witch could stop him.

Of course what he just said was a complete and total lie, but he really couldn't see himself accepting such an invitation. The thought of spending the evening surrounded by hot-tempered Weasleys, most of who were still harboring a grudge against him because of various reasons, wasn't what troubled him about the arrangement. What troubled him was spending the evening in close proximity to the youngest Weasley witch, trying not to stare or at least not be conspicuous about it. And he knew for certain that he would stare at the youngest Weasley witch if such opportunity presented itself, because she still hadn't spoken a word and the voice at the back of his head was still hissing and sputtering vindictively, _She's there, there! Looking, she's looking!_

Draco was so deep in contemplation and striding purposefully towards the door that it took him a few moments to realize there had been some foreign pressure applied to his ear, pulling him slightly downwards and back. If the invitation to spend the evening among various members of the Weasley clan wasn't enough to make Draco lose his composure, the fact that he now was staring into the uncomfortably close brown eyes of Mrs. Weasley, who was pulling him by his ear downwards to face her equally, definitely was. His eyes widened in shock of such antic and his mouth slipped open.

"Did I not make myself crystal clear when I said no one refuses a Weasley invitation, Mr. Malfoy?" came the crisp voice of Molly Weasley, unabashed by the fact that she was still holding a grown man - a _Malfoy_ - by his ear.

Draco blinked, still unable to recompose himself. From the corner of his eye he could see Ron gawk in utter disbelief at the scene; and he could've sworn he heard a meek giggle coming from where he last saw Ginny. He opened his mouth, but found that he was too flabbergasted to piece a reply. What could've been his reply to the woman he met barely dozen times in his entire life, but already felt nonchalant enough about him that deemed it appropriate to yank his ears? He had to squelch the malicious comment about the Weasley manners that was whirring through his mind in order to maintain the last traces of his poise.

"I do understand your discomfort regarding such an invitation, seeing as our families have been at odds for longer than any of us can recall," she spoke calmly, almost neutrally, but her voice was traced with an apparent edge. "But I can assure you that my invitation was not made from feeling of obligation or plain etiquette. When I invited you, I did not expect you to decline because of this foolish family feud and certainly did not expect you to muster up a dimwitted excuse as to why not to accept it. Now, I understand I mostly certainly caused you more than mild discomfort by my action and I will let you go in just one second, but if you think you are leaving this house without having at least twelve helpings of the dishes I worked so hard over and wholeheartedly wish to share with you, you have another thing coming. Dear. "

Emphasizing the last word with a cheerful smile, Mrs. Weasley let go of Draco's ear and brushed her dress robes absently, smoothing the slight wrinkles. "Now… who's up for some breathtaking meal?" she beamed readily, pocketing her wand, clasping her hands together, and glancing at her children and Draco in turn.

"I am," Ron raised his hand immediately, his voice laced with obvious fear of his mother. He trudged towards the kitchen after shooting Draco a strange look, a look that suspiciously resembled pity. It seems he was well trained in his mother's berating antics and automatically felt sympathy for whoever was unlucky enough to undergo it.

Draco straightened slowly, still staring with mildly wide eyes at the plump woman in front of him. Tugging at the hem of his sweater to smooth it down and cleared his throat subtly. "Right then," he muttered more to himself, chancing a glance at Ginny. Though the discomfort was still evident, he could see the sides of her mouth pulled up in a small smile. Apparently she found the image of Weasley matriarch scolding a grown Draco Malfoy amusing, for whatever reason. Looking back at Mrs. Weasley, Draco shot her the most brilliant smile he could muster without breaking his usual Malfoy veneer and offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

Mrs. Weasley smiled good naturedly, hooking one of plump arms with Draco's slender one and lead him into the back yard. A distraught Ginny Weasley followed close behind.

----------------------------------------------

Ginny couldn't believe her mother. Of all the quirky-bordering-on-insane things she might've done, inviting Draco to a Weasley family gathering, then practically dragging him in _by his ear_ when he declined, wasn't high on Ginny's scale of predictions. She loved her Mum with all her heart and was appreciative of all the things she was given and taught, but right about now she couldn't squash the desire to do something not nice to her mother or at least demand a valid explanation, instead of the one she was given when helping Molly with the last dishes.

_Nobody refuses a Weasley-cooked meal my cute little arse_, Ginny thought to herself, stabbing the steak on her plate.

Not that the evening had been completely ruined by the glacially pristine presence of Draco Malfoy at the family gathering. Despite what Ginny dreaded before entering the back yard, not all her family members hated Draco automatically because of what his father once stood for and represented. On the contrary, most of the Prewetts and the Weasleys were eager to converse with him and welcomed him openly, because of what he himself was - Order member, immaculate businessman and an intelligent and interesting conversant. The sight of numerous uncles and cousins eagerly trying to draw his attention into various conversations was somewhat unnerving, though Ginny couldn't quite place her finger on why exactly. Even her older brothers were drawn to the flawless Malfoy charm - Bill unabashedly tried to inquire regarding the Malfoy infamous collection of Dark Artifacts, more specifically the known counter curses, while Charlie was enamored instantly at Draco's mention of the Dragon Farm he owned in Romania, and was even invited into the closed and warded estate to observe one of the few Ukrainian Ironbellies left in northern hemisphere.

Of course, not all Weasleys were bedazzled by Draco's eloquence and manners. Throughout the evening she could see Ron sulking at the farther end of the table, next to Dad who seemed none too pleased as well. Hermione kept casting odd glances from Draco to Ginny, her face veiled in that expression she undertook in Hogwarts whenever struggling with an exceptionally difficult Arithmancy problem. Even Aunt Eloise - who begged Ginny to take a seat beside her and tried to prod her into talking about Harry, but was shooed away by Molly, who rescued Ginny and reseated her away, suspiciously closer to the center, where Draco was given a seat - was spotted shooting Draco hateful glares of the sort that made Ginny recoil subtly in her seat.

She didn't give it too much thought, knowing that generally everything was mostly perfectly normal and civil. That was until she noticed Fred and George flanking Draco at each side, grinning widely and chatting nonchalantly with the clueless wizard, absently handing his a cup with bright fruity goodness that would seem completely harmless to unsuspecting Malfoys who didn't have to grow up with those two menaces running amok.

Ginny gulped the piece of meat she's been chewing with some difficulty and called out to Draco. Apparently he couldn't quite hear her over the noise of ceaseless chatter, since he didn't turn or give any indication that he had heard her. She was about to excuse herself from the table and make her way to the garden patch where several men, including Draco and her twin brothers, discussed various matters while having a minute of relative peace away from the table, when Aunt Eloise tried to drag her into yet another tiresome conversation about family history. Ginny finally managed to slip away, proclaiming that if Aunt Eloise refused to release her, she would reenact the notorious incident of 1986 where Ginny didn't reach the bathroom in time and left a very unladylike puddle on Aunt Eloise's favorite Persian rug.

Once given freedom, Ginny hurried into the Burrow where her mind absently remembered that the incident actually occurred in Uncle Jacob's house and it was Aunt Annie's favorite Persian rug, but it didn't matter as she left through the front door and made her way around the house and over to the trio that had concerned her.

_Oh good_, Ginny thought to herself with a sigh of relief, noticing that Draco hadn't drunk the punch yet, which was mostly definitely spiked with liquid Weasley-Do.

"Hi, guys," she chirped, stepping closer into the light.

The three men glanced up at her, her two brothers greeting her with cautious smiles and Draco with a subtle tilt of his head in acknowledgment.

"What are you doing here?" she continued with the same easy voice, throwing warning looks at her twin brothers - both knew exactly why she was here.

"Discussing Quidditch, Gin-bug," George countered almost evenly, deciding it was safe as long as Ginny had no evidence.

"Really?" she asked with fake fascination, eyeing the punch cup warily. Could she just knock it out of Draco's grasp? No, he had enough of Weasley odd behavior to last a lifetime; he wouldn't survive anything that drastic.

"Yes," Fred confirmed brightly. "Malfoy here was just telling us that he is considering sponsoring Chuddley Cannons next season…"

"How nice of him," Ginny responded evenly, thinking Draco probably got that idea just this evening after discovering Ron was their devoted fan. Shaking her head slightly, she suddenly noticed Draco draw the punch cup to his lips, ready to take an absent sip while she was having an idle conversation with her brothers.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Ginny blurted quickly, hoping Draco would freeze at her command and throw the cup away.

But he didn't. Instead he brought the cup to his lips and tipped it subtly, taking a sip while sending her an inquiring look over the rim. Drawing the cup away, he was completely unaware of the quickly darkening and reddening splotches that spread on his colorless fair locks.

"Do what?" he frowned in mild puzzlement, absently noticing the two men beside him, trying to suppress their erupting laughter.

"That," Ginny sighed in defeat, looking apologetically as the charm slithered about Draco's tresses, finally reaching the tips of his locks, leaving an unnatural mane of fiercely red hair atop of Draco Malfoy's head.

"What?" Draco snapped irritably, his suspicion rising into rigid panic at the sight of two heaps of guffawing redheads beside him. "What is it, Weasley?"

Ginny emanated a small, strangled sound and looked away. Though the situation might've caused her to join her brothers in a heap of jeering giggles in Hogwarts, now it was positively painful to watch those silken strands of fair white engulfed in burning red, that was somewhat unbecoming of Draco's whole fa?ade. Unable to watch the horror any further, she turned to her brothers as they crouched on the ground, bracing their stomach as thunderous barks of laughter rolled out freely.

"I can't believe you two! You bloody gits! This is beyond any other childish prank you've done! This is plain brutal!"

"_What_ is?" Draco demanded, glaring at the twins and Ginny, demanding explanation. "What did they do? What did you _do_?"

"Just you wait until I find Mum and tell her about this!" Ginny hollered, kicking Fred in the shin.

The twins rolled about in her uncontrollable feet up until the mention of Weasley matriarch. They both froze, glancing at their sister with wide brown eyes, trying to gauge whether she would really betray them in the foulest way-telling Mum.

"Yeah, that's right. I _will_," she assured them briskly, folding her arms across her chest. "Unless you fix him. Now. "

"Fix what?" Draco all but shrieked, despising being ignored. "What did they do?"

Ginny glanced at him, her eyes yet again filling with pity and apology for crimes not her own.

"We can't," George mumbled into his sweater, standing up and helping his brother up. "It will wear off though," he offered hopefully with a bright smile.

"For Merlin's sake! If you're not telling me this instance what these two looters did to me, I am cursing your brothers into all seven rings of hell!" Draco roared, glaring down at Ginny with his eyes spitting fire.

Biting back her tongue, she sighed in defeat and led him back into the house, where the first thing Draco encountered on his way in, was the mirror in the foyer.

There were no screams, no shouts and no cursing. Just thin silence, zinging through Ginny's ears as Draco gazed into the mirror with a horrified expression. Then the twitching began and for some reason when Draco slowly, almost fearfully, turned to face her, she couldn't help the giggle that escaped her lips joining the rejuvenated guffaws of her brothers. He opened his mouth once, but no sound came out and Ginny feared then that perhaps they'd gone too far and Draco was going to be the first wizard to ever expire after encountering such a high concentration of Weasleys in a short time.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed timidly, trying to appease him with a smile. "But it does wear off…"

"Eventually," choked out the heap of laughing body parts that belonged to George. An admission that earned him two sharp kicks in his thigh and back from Ginny, all too trained with her brothers' most painful places.

Ginny glanced back at Draco and had to bite back a cry. He looked so wounded, so hurt that she just couldn't help the pained expression on her face. He opened his mouth again in a meek attempt to say something, anything, but was simply unable.

She really should've found it amusing - _The Amazing Bouncing Ferret, now in scarlet!_ - but she just couldn't. Not entirely, anyway.

"Oh dear…" a muffled gasp broke the silence and Ginny turned to face her mother, staring at the newly redheaded Draco Malfoy. Her eyes then slipped to the two grown men, both of whom froze at the sight of their mother spotting them and now appeared like a vision of two identical gazelles caught up in the headlights of a great Muggle monster truck, knowing all too well what was about to happen.

"You two have exactly five seconds to climb upstairs and silence charm the entire floor. I don't want to disturb the guests with your grueling shouts of pain and horror," Molly spoke crisply again, eyeing the twins like a hawk as the two headed upstairs wordlessly. Her eyes softened as they passed onto Draco, who was yet again staring into the mirror. "How about a nice cup of tea, Draco dear?"

Ginny cringed involuntarily when Draco glanced at the older witch, his left eye still twitching. She waited with ghastly feeling in her stomach for Draco to finally snap and mouth off to her mother for everything he had to endure tonight, but was beyond surprised when he finally spoke.

"A cup of tea would be lovely, Mrs. Weasley," came the almost nonchalant reply out of Draco's mouth.

Ginny had to stop herself from gawking in utter disbelief. Who was this man and what did he do with the conceited, spoilt, bratty and just plain mean Draco 'Ferret' Malfoy?

Mrs. Weasley smiled fondly at the traumatized wizard, waving her wand into the living room where a tray with two sets of service appeared. "Ginny, be a dear and keep Draco a company while I take care of the delinquents," she uttered with a smile, before heading upstairs with a stiff air about her.

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**Author's Notes:** Oh, and I've been rewriting the first chapters to fix some glitches and holes, so if you're bored you should check those out :) 


	13. Newly Found Dread

**Disclaimer:** Dance, puppets, _DANCE!_

**Author's Notes:** Hi, there :) As promised, this chapter didn't take months to arrive :hides sheepishly: The next chapter is all planned out and maybe will also take less than months to be published. Let's cross out fingers :crosses:

A little reminder to those who would like to be notified when the next installment of IWNLYLM comes out - don't forget to leave your emails in your reviews.

Once against loads and loads and loads of cookies, hugs, and fluffy stuffed animals to the amazing **Jennykins** for her outstanding betaing and extra help regarding some aspects of human biology I wasn't fully aware of :scratches head:

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**13 : Newly Found Dread**

Ginny led Draco into the living room, and offered him a seat on the overstuffed armchair. She took the seat on the couch to his right.

Draco sat down quietly, keeping his eyes firmly on the delicate cups while Ginny poured the tea and offered him his. He took the cup silently, offering only a faintly audible "_thank you_" out of sheer habit, and placed it on the table in front of him, gazing into the steaming auburn liquid.

Ginny kept glancing at the newly Weasley-ed wizard over the rim of her teacup, feeling hopelessly uncomfortable in the existing silence. Draco continued to stare intently into his cup, once in a while taking small sips, but not at all unsettled by the silence. Ginny tried to muster up something to say, but found that the only thing coursing her mind regarding the man beside her was the all too memorable and all too vivid memory of the previous morning. As the thought was noticed, it took great pleasure in replaying itself in the utmost detail in her mind, from the warmth of his bare skin to the rhythm of his cruel lips.

Ginny bit back a groan, chancing a glance at Draco, hoping her musings weren't visible to the outside. Draco was still too consumed in his own little world, his eyes now fixated on the dancing flames in the fireplace. She continued watching him silently, finding the scene resembling the quiet nights in Malfoy Manor's living room, the memory causing an lenient smile to creep across her lips. She was about to lean back into the couch when she noticed him picking up his teacup and tilting it to take a sip, but halting immediately as a stray lock of blazing red hair tumbled onto the front of his face. He released an involuntary whimper.

Ginny winced at the sound, mentally cursing her brothers and hoping they were suffering for their little prank. She noticed Draco chancing a glance at her, obviously hoping she did not hear him. Realizing that she had, he drew his eyes away quickly and covered a quiet growl with a sip of his tea, ignoring the faint burning in his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she finally offered, hoping that the charm was going to fade away soon.

Draco's back tensed and he continued to watch the fire. "It was not your fault," he replied dismissively, placing the teacup back onto the coffee table.

"I should've at least warned you," Ginny tried to prod him into a conversation, really disliking the silence. She also hoped he would turn to face her, instead of ignoring her presence by staring at the hearth.

Draco didn't reply immediately and it seem as though he would not reply at all, having no desire to be dragged into a forced conversation, but he cleared his throat after a while. "Weasley, please. It was a joke. I'll live," he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, one eyebrow arched delicately.

Ginny noticed tones of ease in his voice and general expression. She tried to return a smile, but he looked away before she could. Wondering if she should feel exasperated, she heaved a sigh, placing her cup down as well and settling deeper into the cushions behind her. She would at least attempt a conversation with him, while they were here, away from rampaging family members. Alone.

Ginny's back stiffened slightly at the realization, but she forced herself to relax against the backrest and watch Draco watching the fire.

"All in all, it was a nice evening," she commented evenly, glancing in the direction of the kitchen, still able to hear buzzing conversation outside in the backyard.

"Yes, it was," Draco replied conversationally, finally looking at her for more than a brief moment. Noticing her comfortable position, he picked up his teacup and leaned against the armchair, taking a more restful position himself. "You have a very nice family. Albeit cruel," he added with a tilt of his red head and a barely noticeable smile. "But nice…"

Ginny grinned, noting his comfort with mild satisfaction, and released a chuckle. To be honest, she didn't quite believe Draco would be able to take the joke as what it was - a joke. She was half expecting him to charge a lawsuit against them for collateral damages and endeavor to send the twins to Azkaban for attempted disfiguration.

"They are quite… eccentric," she agreed with a nod. Watching him elegantly quirk his brow again, she gave in to another chortle. "Okay, okay, they are a handful. And using their inventions on a stranger was really, _very_ cruel," she added with a smile, picking up her teacup and taking a sip.

"They brew this horror themselves?" Draco asked, looking faintly aghast.

"'Weasley-Do - Make the whole world a Weasley'," she recited with a cheeky smile. . "It's from their prank shop in the Diagon Alley. They develop and produce every prank themselves, often testing on unsuspecting family members," she explained with a rueful nod, remembering the numerous underdeveloped candy incidents she endured in her life. "Well, and you…"

"Really?" he drawled, glancing away for a moment, his expression flashing somewhere between interest and deviousness.

"Yeah," Ginny smiled, only slightly concerned about his expression. "Congratulations, Draco, you've been officially branded by the twins as likeable. Actually, I'm surprised they didn't try to poison you. The whole family aren't as fond of Slytherins as one may assume," she offered a chuckle, but was immediately retaliated with faint glare and a sudden stiff air about Draco. Ginny bit back her laughter, not understanding what could've caused such a drastic switch, but said nothing.

Silence settled back again and Ginny found it this time being more unnerving as Draco's eyes were no longer staring into the fireplace, but rather kept watching her. Trying to ignore the awkward warmth spreading on her face, Ginny took the final sip from her tea and put down the cup. She relaxed back into the cushions and glanced at Draco cautiously. He was still staring at her, but his glare softened into a more neutral look when Ginny matched him with her own stare.

The silence prolonged and once again Draco didn't seem at all troubled by it or the staring contest they were engaged in. That is, until their staring was broken off by some lumbering sounds coming from upstairs as Molly descended down the stairs in a slightly disheveled appearance, straightening her robes and fixing her hair with a quick spell. She entered the living room, surveying the young pair with a pleased expression and a soft smile.

"Well, those two are all taken care of. Of course, I'm afraid they won't be able to walk for the upcoming days, but lets not worry about that, shall we?" she petted Draco absently on the shoulder, glancing away for a moment, before looking back at Ginny. "Ginny dear, could you bring them few packs of ice later on? No, no, not now dear, let them stew for a while. Well, I'll be heading back outside. You two feel free to stay here, I doubt anyone would mind your absence," Molly smiled one last time at them and disappeared into the kitchen.

Ginny smiled back at her mother, watching her step into the backyard and hearing the soft latching of the door as she closed it behind her. "I'll be right back," she intoned to Draco with a meaningful glance and hurried into the kitchen, pulling out four packs of ice and heading upstairs. She was still somewhat furious at her brothers for their prank, but she couldn't let them stay up there suffering. She never could.

She trailed silently upstairs into their old bedroom and slowly opened the door, glancing in on her twin brothers. . She propped one hand on her hip, giving them the sternest of looks she could muster at the pitiful sight - a look that assured them they deserved everything they got - and tossed the ice packs to them, wordlessly leaving and returning downstairs.

Ginny trailed back into the living room, reclaiming her seat on the couch and sighed tiredly. "Those two… you would think after all the punishments they would learn…"

"What are you planning to do?" came a casual drawl from the armchair beside her.

Ginny blinked, subtly furrowing her brows at Draco. "Err, well, I think Mum already took care of the--"

"About _Potter_," Draco snipped, vague exasperation lacing his tone. "About yourself. "

Ginny blinked again, her shoulders tensing at the mention of Harry. Well, she hadn't thought about that since her arrival home, to be completely honest. Actually she hadn't thought about it at all and was quite settled with the situation. She knew her mother wouldn't mind her staying at The Burrow for a while; she would be thrilled, in fact. But-- _but whom did Draco think he was to ask her that in such an accusatory voice? _Honestly, she couldn't see why he would consider this his business. Her expression tightened into a haughty replica of her usual features and she opened her mouth to reply, but was disrupted by his voice again.

"Or are you planning on hiding behind your Mother's robes until it blows away? Where is that Gryffindor bravery everyone keeps blathering about?"

Ginny stared at him. In a matter of mere minutes and right in front of her eyes, Draco had retraced the past ten years and comfortably resettled back into his annoying Slytherin prat persona. His voice was brisk and derisive. He was looking at her with barely visible ire in his eyes, and his lip was slightly quirked into that infamous Malfoy sneer.

"I don't see how it is any of your business if I do stay home for a while," she spoke evenly, with her chin jutted up in defiance. She clenched her jaw, immediately grateful she had the sense to do so and prevent any sounds that might've emanated from her at the sight of Draco.

He arched a single immaculately shaped brow and was watching her with an amused smirk. Even the flaming mop of red hair atop of his head wasn't able to squash the perfect image of the scornful seventh year Draco Malfoy she'd hated so much. In fact, it seemed that the Weasley hair itself was jeering her.

"Oh really?"

Ginny gulped inaudibly, continuing to glare at him. She wasn't that sure now that he looked at her, his expression assuring her none too gently that is was indeed his business. But was it? Did the fact that he seemingly voluntarily placed himself between her and Harry as a human shield, make it his business? But now she was away from his abode and out from under his responsibility. Was it still his business?

_Not if he doesn't want it,_ a tiny gleeful voice piped up at the back of her mind. And it was right, he had no obligation towards her to care or to even check up on her well-being, and yet here he was - as a annoying as ever and inquiring about her. _Does he want to make it his business? _

"_Weasley_!"

"Hmm?" Ginny blinked out of her reverie, refocusing her eyes on the wizard before her. It seemed he'd been trying to get her attention for a while now and by the fidgeting of his hands she guessed he was quite close to just shaking her out of her daze, manners be damned.

"Your personal Gringotts vault, what is the number?" he barked, annoyed by her dazedness. "Where is the key? Where are you planning on living? Where would you find an apartment?"

Ginny blinked again, trying to grasp what he was saying. She obviously understood the words and their meanings, but was absolutely unable to comprehend what he was getting at.

Exasperated by her silence, Draco growled irritable, continuing. "How do you pay the bills? How do you ward your house against intruders? I can go on like this, Weasley, until you answer me at least one of these questions…"

"What are you on about, Malfoy?"

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, letting his composure slip back in after the momentary imperfection. He licked his lips absently and clenched his jaw, once again setting his gaze onto Ginny. "Answer me at least one of those questions…"

"What--" Ginny continued to frown, shaking her head a little. She tried to read in his impenetrable eyes the meaning of his odd questions, but saw nothing beyond the guarding gossamer. Instead she shook her head again, this time as if indulging a rambling child, and decided to just answer one of the presented questions. She went through the questions in her mind with a bored expression, rolling her eyes at Draco's oddity. They were simple basic questions, what on earth would make him think she could not answer them? Of all the bloody stupid things--

_Personal Gringotts vault, number… umm, number… Okay, lets start with the fact that I haven't used my personal account in ages and the one I do use is a joint account with-- _

Okay, never mind. The key. Right, I probably have it somewhere up in my room… for my personal vault, at least. No, I actually gave it for safekeeping to--

Living! - This is ridiculous! - I'm going to stay here for a couple of days. Well, obviously not forever, I'm not hiding behind my Mummy for Merlin's sake. Well, where do I look for a place then? Umm… err… well, this is indeed ridiculous! Where did I found the house, then? Oh. Yeah. I didn't, it was found by--

Ginny stopped her inner dialogue and covered her mouth with her hand, suddenly feeling tired again. Her eyes trailed away aimlessly and she knew there was no use in continuing her search - it was Harry who paid the bills and warded their house against intruders. She was horrified and sickened, but she couldn't quite pinpoint why.

As if reading her like an open book, Draco shook his head subtly. Exhaling sharply, he tilted his head aback to lean it on the backrest and stared at the ceiling fixatedly. "It is Potter, isn't it? He was the one to know the answers?"

Ginny suddenly felt very uncomfortable, though gradually more bothered. "What is your point, Malfoy?"

She expected him to snap at her with some scathing comment, to tell her off and belittle her on the spot; sensing her discomfort and milking it for all he could get. He looked at her for a long while before speaking again, his voice lacking the usual cutting edge.

"For starters, your life savings are locked in a vault to which only your--Potter can get, leaving you in a financial draught. At least for the upcoming month…" he replied casually, almost conversationally, all the while staring up at the ceiling. "Then there's the fact that you obviously lack the everyday skills of taking care of yourself as an adult, what with you not knowing simple necessities such as warding a premise or paying a bill. "

Ginny just stared at him for the longest of times, hoping that the realization wouldn't sink in any further. She continued to search her mind for those simple answers she should have known. She must have known them, for it was absolutely ridiculous and preposterous that she didn't. Harry couldn't have taken care of every single little detail about their household, the billing and all the other things she couldn't even think of at this moment. It was impossible. Didn't she ever notice? Wondered? Tried to do something?

_How could I not?_ her mind shrieked in incredulity. _Ridiculous!_

She was a strong, self-sufficient woman, who was respected by her family, friends and society in general. She had a steady, well-paying position, where she was adored and appreciated as well. Ginny was a woman, a grown woman, who knew what she wanted and acted to get it. She was _not_ babied by her husband and just because Draco Malfoy had the audacity to sit here and suggest such a foul and absurd notion, did not mean that he was correct in way, shape or form!

Her gaze hardened into a glare and she noticed Draco's subtle reaction as he clenched his jaw once again. "What exactly are you getting at, Malfoy?"

Draco steadied his cool gaze at her, seemingly unfazed by the hostility in her voice. "You know exactly what I'm getting at, Weasley. "

"Are you suggesting I can't take care of myself?"

"Are you suggesting that you can? Because over the past weeks the only time I saw you have a backbone was when I was driving you out of your redheaded mind," Draco drawled spitefully, sliding his indifferent eyes to rest on her once again.

"Obviously, Malfoy, since you drive me out of my mind on each occasion that our paths cross," she spat back, unable to keep her voice as even as his. "And what on earth gives you the right to even _think_ that you know anything about me?"

Ginny was panicking and when she panicked, she lashed out at the closest person around her. Luckily that person was Draco Malfoy, which made the lashing out all that natural and easy. She jumped to her feet, which surprisingly enough didn't feel wobbly. Fists clenched, hair tussled, and small pink lips set in a cruel line. She glared at him fiercely, hoping to see him recoil and run away. "You saw me at my worst once, twice, and you think you know everything there is to know? You know nothing, Malfoy, _nothing_!"

In a swift motion Draco was on his feet as well, glaring down at the petite hellion and visibly trying not to loom over her. "I know that the simple mention of Potter's name sends into a fidgeting act. I know you are unable to hold your ground against him and I know that somewhere in the depth of your poor little soul you wish things would go back to the way they were before he--"

"And what is so wrong about that, Malfoy? I used to love the man! He was my everything! He was the one I would have willingly given my life for! He was a friend, a husband, a kindred spirit! What is so utterly wrong about wanting to be with the man I _loved_?"

Ginny's mind was reeling with blazing rage. She couldn't believe how much hatred boiled within her at the sound of Draco's voice - smooth, indifferent and unrightfully accusing. She felt her insides flair up and wanted nothing more than to bash that horribly calm expression off his face, to see _him_ at his worst, to see him broken and shattered and crying out of control. Her fists trembled violently and her whole body seemingly gave way, refusing to stand as a barrier between the destructive fire within and the outside world. Something snapped, sending the savage tendrils of her anger lashing out, whipping at the tea service and sending it plummeting across the room.

Ginny yelped in surprise, jumping out of the way of clattering silverware, and sent a bewildered glare at the shattered teacups, eyes wide as saucers and chest laboring for a breath. She took her time to simmer down, recollecting what exactly happened in the recent fleeting moments. She glanced back at Draco, who seemed not at all surprised, nor puzzled by her uncontrolled outburst.

"Nothing," he replied evenly, his voice barely audible to her through the deafening buzzing in her ears. "If not for the fact that you used the past tense five times in your little tirade…"

It took Ginny a few moments to comprehend that he was replying to her own question, and when she finally understood, it really didn't matter anymore. She cast her eyes downwards and moved away to pick up the broken cups and scattered shards of china, not quite wishing to use her wand so soon after the outburst of pure magic. Of course, it wasn't the first time it had happened to her, but the experience was always unnerving, especially when it was accompanied by a scorning voice, hissing that she was unable to control herself. A voice that sounded morbidly like a raven-haired wizard she once knew.

She sensed a shift in the air beside her and caught the sight of Draco crouching down and picking up shards of broken china out of the corner of her eye. He remained silent and for that she was grateful. She wasn't quite sure how to react to him if he did say something. She wasn't positive she was angry at him and she was tired of shouting, but being civil to him if he continued provoking her was out of the question. So she preferred the silence for the first time.

After picking up every last visible shard and the silverware off the floor and piling it onto the tray that remained entire through the crash, Ginny silently headed into the kitchen. Draco muttered a final cleaning charm for the unnoticed shards, and then followed her. She glanced out of the window on her way to the sink, noticing the still active atmosphere outside as opposed to the withered air about her, before setting about washing the dishes.

Ginny watched the numerous children run to and fro, delighted in their new games; brothers and cousins engaged in avid discussions about matters of the world; sisters-in-law were huddled together at the table, giggling jubilantly at some random gossips. Hermione was the odd one out and was the only one chatting with someone out of her age group, more specifically Ginny's father and one of her mother's brothers, Uncle Isaac. There was something strange about Hermione's expression, something very troubled, as she seemed to ask the grown men some questions and they appeared to answer casually.

Ginny shook her head, reminding herself she had enough issues of her own to worry about, and heaved a sigh. She saw Draco out of the corner of her eye, leaning against the doorframe and still continuing to watch her.

What was she going to do? For starters, a headache speared through her mind, clouding anything beside the repetitive actions of scrubbing the dishes and washing the soap off. Second of all, she was still confused and had absolutely no idea about anything. She did know she had to get a grip on herself and soon. Figure out whatever it was she needed to figure out, so she could move on with everything.

She just wished someone could point her in the right direction.

Her attention was suddenly cut off by a commotion coming from outside. She glanced up, frowning, and noticed every single family member stop whatever they were doing before and dash over to the garden patch where she'd observed Hermione talking to her father and uncle only minutes ago. Eyes widening in realization, she dropped the dishes and hurried outside, following Draco, who was already halfway across the field.

"What is going on? What is it? What _is it_?" she demanded an explanation, still following Draco as he shouldered his way into the center of the gathered family members. Finally arriving there, she froze in terror, seeing Hermione crouching on the ground with a gruesome expression of pain on her face, clutching at her stomach.

"Her water just broke," Molly exclaimed, crouching beside the writhing girl. "But I don't understand… something's wrong," she determined finally, glancing up at Arthur and then Ron with concerned eyes.

Ginny's ears were instantly filled with waves of deafening white noise. She saw Ron, kneeling on the other side of Hermione, eyes wide and face changing colors rapidly from bright pink, to deep scarlet, to concerning shade of white and finally bright green. His breath seemed to be dragged in, in disturbing hiccups while his hands went futilely fidgeting for his wand that immediately slipped through the quaking fingers like they were nothing but jelly.

"The hospital," Ron muttered, trying to grab his wand again. "We must take her to the hospital." But his attempts with the wand were futile and his fingers refused to acquiesce.

Suddenly someone groaned beside her, muttered a charm and levitated Hermione gently into the air. "_Move_!" the same someone barked out and everybody parted to give way, as he hurried back into the house, followed by Ginny's parents, some other family members and a very frantic Ron Weasley, who flailed his arms about and demanded from Draco to put down his wife, claiming he was capable enough to perform a levitating charm himself.

Ginny was glad Draco ignored her brother then, heading inside and most probably towards the fireplace in order to Floo to St. Mungo's Hospital, because as she glanced down at the spot where Hermione laid mere minutes ago, she saw large stains of darkly crimson blood.

Heart tightening in newly found dread, she quickly charmed the blood away and left Percy in charge of keeping everybody calm and at the Burrow; the hospital did not need panicked hordes of Weasleys and Prewetts on their hands.

Silently praying to every deity she ever knew existed, she rushed back into the house, joining Bill on his way to the hospital.

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He spent the whole evening looking at her, wishing he could hold her closer, kiss her softly, trace his fingers upon her naked back in tiny loops and invisible flowers. But most of all, he wanted to grip her arm firmly until those dark violet marks bloomed again on every squared inch of her pale creamy skin. He wanted to brand her again. Make _her_, his once and for all. Make her remember and cause those hot, delicious tears to roll down her cinnamon-dusted cheeks. He wanted to see the fear he studded into her heart long ago, shining once again through those brilliant honey-coated eyes he loved so much.

His plan was almost immaculate. He couldn't believe it would be this easy to pretend to be one of the Weasleys, to this extent. A simple Polyjuice brew and he had gotten closer to her than she probably would've liked. He couldn't help the small smile at the thought.

_Stupid little girl, what was she thinking?_

The only thing that irked him beyond reason was ruddy Malfoy crashing the gathering, uninvited and seemingly charming everyone around. The parasite had had the audacity to ogle Ginny throughout the evening and then disappear along with her for over an hour.

_Rotten piece of pureblooded trash, as useless as his father, and far more aggravating. _

He snarled suddenly, his fists clutching tightly at his robes until the already pale knuckles became even whiter.

_The moment I get what is rightfully mine, he will pay for every single moment he dared to spend with her. For every single glance and every single breath. And if there was something more than that pathetic attempt of chivalry… I will spend the next decade causing him unbearable pain, until he is nothing more than a shell of a boy he is. _

He threw a hateful glare at Draco's back, as the other wizard levitated the aching woman over to the receptionist, smothering the threatening sneer from appearing on this foreign face.

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**Author's Notes:** I'm a little bit troubled by Draco's characterization here, but I hope you won't find it too unbearable.

Cookies to whomever guesses who Harry is Polyjuiced as :P


	14. A Blaise From The Past

**Disclaimer:** Someday I shall rule the world… not today, though, I'm tired!

**Author's Notes:** Information regarding the actual Staphylococcus bacteria is taken from Yahoo!Education. Yay for online encyclopedias :) The bacteria presented here is all fictional.

Thus far, no one seem to guess correctly who Harry is. This chapter should make it clearer.

Of course, if you want to be added to the mailing, don't forget to leave your email in the comment :D

Cakes and lounge couches to the wonderful **Jen** for her help.

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**14 : A Blaise From The Past**

Ever since Ginny Weasley could remember, she always had her older brother, Ron, by her side. He was the one to retrieve her when she wandered off to follow a tiny yellow kitty in the middle of Diagon Alley's Christmas hysteria, before her Mother could notice that she was gone and punish her into the next millennia. He was also the one to pound that Muggle boy into the ground when the git pushed her off a swing during one of their visits to Ottery St. Catchpole's marketplace. Of course, he was also the one who got overly protective and insufferably overbearing when Ginny was old enough to be interested in boys, and took it upon himself to personally interrogate each and every bloke that ever showed any signs of interest in her - "talking the fear of older brothers into them", as he often referred to his chats with them.

But he was always there and he was always strong and always knew what to do. And if he didn't, he could always pretend well enough so she'd feel calm and know that nothing bad could happen to her on the dark and bustling streets as long as he was there, crushing her small hand within his own with reassuring strength.

That is why when Ron was escorted by two bulky Medi-Wizards out of Hermione's room at St. Mungo's Hospital, she felt her stomach lurch painfully. He was screaming and thrashing, trying to get free from the Medi-Wizards' vice grip. His face flashing furious red, not only from the indignation, but also from the obvious streaks of helpless tears running down his face. He was outnumbered, though, and they easily discarded him in the middle of the hallway in front of over half a dozen relatives. He spun around in righteous outrage, willing to continue his battle against them, but at that exact moment a slamming door greeted him. Ron immediately launched at the door, kicking and pounding, shouting and demanding to be let back in.

Ginny was the first one by his side; unintentionally avoiding the comforting hug Aunt Eloise was about to offer her a moment earlier. She reached his side, one hand instinctively resting on his arm in a practiced attempt to restrain him. "Ron! Ron, what's wrong? Why did they shut you out? Ron, stop pounding the door for Merlin's sake, and just tell me what's wrong! What happened to Hermione?"

When he seemed to pay her no attention, Ginny grabbed a fistful of his robes and yanked him away from the door, forcing him to face her. "Ron, what is wrong?"

"I don't _know_!" he burst at last, punching the door with his free hand. "I don't know, they won't tell me! All I saw was blood. There was not supposed to be so much blood and she passed out. She passed out, Gin! She wasn't suppose to pass out! Something's wrong! And _they won't tell me what_!" He uttered a primitive growl at the door, bringing his forehead to the door's surface with a defeated thud. "They won't tell me…"

Swallowing back the rising lump in her throat, Ginny tightened her grip on her brother's arm and gently guided him to the nearest seat. "It is all right, Ron. Everything is going to be just fine. Healer Kurren is the best Delivery Witch in the hospital and she knows what she's doing, really. They will fix everything, I promise you."

For a moment Ginny admonished how calm and reassuring her voice was, when her own stomach had wrenched painfully at the sound of his words. But she couldn't afford herself to waver or to sound unsure, because her brother's mental stability - not to mention the hospital doors - depended on that.

Ron nodded slowly, suddenly feeling exhausted and drained. "I know, I just want--"

"I know. And you _will_ see her. And she will be fine. As will the baby…"

He nodded again, forcing himself to believe the comforting words. Raking trembling fingers over his face, he swiped away the beads of cold sweat and rested his hand over his mouth. But something snapped inside and a ragged intake of air turned into a sob, which he tried to smother by biting his fist. The shudder in his shoulders indicated that he could not hold it in for much longer and Ginny's eyes grew slightly in alarm, realizing he was about to cry.

Snapping her eyes away, she searched the gathered crowd for one of her other brothers, unable to let him crumble in front of everyone. Finally spotting George in the corner, she motioned to him franticly with her hand, hurrying him over. "George! George, George, George! Take him out. He needs some fresh air, _now_!"

George, instantly took in Ron's disheveled appearance, threw Ginny a curt nod, and quickly led Ron out of the hallway, away from the uncomfortable gaze of other Weasley members.

Ginny drew a shaky breath. Her hands raked her hair, and she threw a wary glance at the closed door in front of her. From what Ron was able to recap, things weren't as planned in there and everything was going dismally wrong.

Despite Ginny's encouraging words, she couldn't help but recall the expression on Healer Kurren's face when she first greeted the frantic family several hours ago. She seemed to pause momentarily at the sight of all the blood seeping through the fabric of Hermione's skirt, before swiftly regaining her composure and shouting instructions to the flabbergasted Medi-Witches.

Ginny was no expert in pregnancy issues, but she was pretty sure that there was never suppose to be so much blood, nor the levels of pain Hermione appeared to be enduring. And by the almost stunned expression on Healer Kurren's face, she was probably right.

Stifling a frustrated groan, Ginny cradled her head in her hands, taking deep shuddering breaths. This evening has gone from pleasant to dire in a matter of hours - one moment everything is perfectly fine and the next, her surroundings were crumbling apart and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Well, she was beginning to despise the constant vicissitudes of her life.

It seemed she wasn't the only one who had been taking the situation close to heart, and all the abrupt changes in her family's mannerism was enough to further unsettle her. Her parents seemed to have switch roles and while Molly was pacing the halls agitatedly, Arthur was sitting rigidly in one of the hospital seats down the row, twisting a tattered looking handkerchief in his hands. Aunt Eloise, who always used to huddle closer to Uncle Henry in stressful situations, now stood away from the awkwardly shifting wizard, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her cloak and her eyes burning holes in the locked door. Bill, who was usually the one to joke about and try to lighten a tense atmosphere, was now leaning again the opposite wall, arms folded across his chest and face drawn into a grim expression. George was disturbingly quiet and willing to cooperate and Ron was too close to breaking down mere minutes ago.

To her utter surprise, the only steady thing this evening in her immediate surrounding had been the only person she never thought would get close to even being considered her immediate surroundings.

Draco had remained aloof and detached throughout the upsetting events, and for the first time since Ginny reencountered him, she was grateful for the fact that he couldn't care less. His unchanging calm behavior and smooth expression were probably one of the main reasons she hadn't broken down yet. Somewhat begrudgingly, Ginny had to admit she was unreservedly thankful for the fact that he didn't leave after Hermione has been admitted, but instead stayed with the family, even if at some distance.

Ginny glanced up and noticed him leaning against the wall further down the hallway, hands casually resting in his trouser pockets and eyes drawn up to the bright light coming from the shining crystal bubbles, clusters of which were spread along the hallway's ceiling. He seemed isolated and radiant under the callous white glow, and for a moment she lingered at the sight. She could feel something web slowly inside of her, cocooning at the pit of her stomach and resigning into an overdue hibernation.

"Mr. Weasley?"

Snapping out of her reverie, Ginny turned towards the door to see a female Healer closing it behind her, scanning the hallway for Ron. For a moment she appeared too young to be wearing the lime-green robes, she was at least a head shorter than Ginny and seemed small amidst the anxious redheads.

"He stepped out for a mi--"

"What is it? How is she? Can I see her?" A frantic Ron barreled past Ginny towards the olive-skinned Healer, hoping to get any scrapes of information regarding his wife.

"Mr. Weasley, calm down," the Healer instructed firmly, her voice smothering any further implorations. "My name is Ahri Kurren and I've been assisting your wife. Now, why don't you take a seat--"

"I don't want to take a seat, I need to know what's with Hermione!"

"--so I can explain to you what is happening to your wife," Healer Kurren finished tightly, motioning to him at the nearest chairs.

She no longer seemed small and too young, Ginny mused to herself, standing up and walking over to the rest of present family members crowded around the Healer.

A flash of indignation passed Ron's eyes and Ginny noticed him clenching his fists agitatedly, but he nodded curtly nonetheless and made his way over to the chair, taking a rigid seat and staring at her expectantly.

Healer Kurren seemed to take a moment to drag a deep breath before sitting down beside him and turning to face the whole family. "There have been some complications--"

Ginny felt her stomach sink and for a moment she wasn't sure whether her legs would hold her up. Gripping onto Bill, who immediately braced a supporting arm around her, steadying her somewhat, she glanced down at Ron. All the scarlet hues of indignation and tears on his face faded instantly, being replaced by sick white pallor. His lips parted slightly, losing all color as well, and seemed to say something, but no a sound came out. A small terrified whimper escaped Molly's mouth and she buried her face into Arthur's chest, gripping onto her retrieved handkerchief.

"It appears to be that Mrs. Granger-Weasley had some complications with the _Staphylococcus Magi Navitas_ bacteria," Healer Kurren continued though the reactions. "This bacteria is usually harmless and resides in the stomachs of every witch or wizard. It feeds off our magical energy and remains mostly in slumber, causing no damage to our bodies."

"What--what does that has to do with Hermione?" Ron's voice was shaky and rasping, and he appeared extremely haggard with his pale skin and dark smudges under his eyes.

"I say usually, because in some cases, very atypical cases, the bacteria migrates to the impregnated uterus to feed off the fetus' magical energy. The pregnancy goes as usual, as neither the mother nor the Healers are able to detect _Staphylococcus Magi Navitas_ once it has settled inside the uterus." Healer Kurren paused, glancing at Ron with guarded expression. "Until the waters break, that is, because then the bacteria, sensing the fetus' departure, begins attacking the sack in order to keep latching on its energy."

Ron drew a shuddering breath, gripping onto the chair's armrest for some balance. "So that's what's happening to Hermione and the baby? They're being attacked by some parasite? Well, why can't you kill it? What--what's stopping you from just charming the thing off?"

Ron was becoming desperate. Ginny could see the hopelessness etching on his face, his knuckles snow-white from the exertion of gripping the armchair beside him, his red eyes unfocussed and glacial, and his speech just barely over a tired frantic whisper.

The Healer exhaled sharply, apparently awaiting this exact respond. "Because the cluster--"

"Cluster?" Bill echoes silently, his brows furrowing in hazy confusion.

"Yes, the parasitic cells typically occur in irregular clusters on the uterus' sides. Unfortunately, it appears in this case the clusters have nestled on the sack itself and it is impossible to remove it without causing any harm to the child."

"Oh god!"

Ron bit his lip violently at the sound of his mother's renewed tears.

"Why haven't the Healers inspected her for this Staffi-whatever before? If this is such a serious condition, they should've--"

"The last case of _Staphylococcus Magi Navitas_ migration was documented back in the Middle Ages," Healer Kurren reasoned, her voice reflecting her own distress. "It was assumed to be caused by continuous use of unclean drinking water, and deemed impossible to happen in the Modern days."

"Obviously not so impossible," George grumbled.

"All right!" Ron cut the nonessential talk and turned to face the Healer again. "What can be done?"

Healer Kurren looked back at Ron evenly, clenching her jaws, and Ginny knew she could reply 'I don't know' and it wouldn't have been that far from the truth.

"There are… two possible options," Kurren said instead, visibly bracing herself. "The first one is to wait until the bacteria dries out without the amniotic fluid, as it surely will. We could minimize the blood loss and provide your wife with the necessary Painless Draughts, but…" she took a deep breath, shaking her head. "Mr. Weasley, your wife already has lost too much blood while we were trying to understand what exactly was wrong with her. The bacteria feeds off the her energy and I'm afraid she might be overly exhausted and unable to deliver when the time comes."

Ron nodded solemnly, bringing his hands together and beginning to wring them hopelessly. Everything was tumbling from bad to worse and Ginny could see that he wouldn't handle it much longer.

"What's the other option?"

"The other option," Kurren inhaled deeply again, her face showing that the second option wasn't any better and in fact was more dubious. "The other option is a part of the complementary medicine one of St. Mungo's Healers has been working on. It is yet to be tested on wizards and is highly unorthodox, but…" the Healer's voice trailed off, a shaky hand swiping away beads of sweat on her forehead. "But the risks are somewhat lower."

"Complimentary medicine? Wait. Wasn't it complimentary medicine when they tried to stitch Dad up like a stuffed turkey?" George asked incredulously.

"What? What good can stitching the poor girl up would do?" Molly bristled, more tears brimming her splotchy eyes.

"No." Healer Kurren exhaled unevenly, her breath resembling an odd puff of laughter. "Not exactly stitching her up. See, complimentary medicine means using Muggle treatments along with ours to reach the best possible outcome. In this case, we are talking about the Caesarean Operation."

Aunt Eloise was the first the break the fallen silence. "You mean 'C' section? Where they cut the woman open to get the baby out?"

"_Cut her open_?" All Weasleys, except the startled Aunt Eloise, bellowed simultaneously.

Healer Kurren visibly cringed at the sound of redheaded chorus. "I can assure you the procedure is quite harmless and well monitored. Muggles have been doing it successfully for decades, and with simple spells, we can make it painless and quick, and minimize any possible scars."

All eyes were drawn to Ron, who was staring at the floor, meshing and twisting his fists anxiously. They understood that the decision was solely his, so all kept their mostly outraged opinions to themselves. Ginny herself couldn't bring herself to even form an opinion on the matter and instead clung closer to Bill, who was breathing raggedly and almost shaking.

"What is the downside of this marvelous method?" Ron questioned quietly in a bitter tone.

"Unfortunately," the Healer exhaled softly. "I'm afraid Healer Pye, the resident Muggle Healer, is away from the hospital on family holiday and I will have to be the one performing it. Of course, once again, there is absolutely nothing to worry about, as at any moment of the procedure we will be able to pull back and heal everything instantly," she assured them, her eyes sympathizing. "The decision is yours and if you prefer to wait, that is what we shall do."

Ginny watched Ron closely, seeing the slumped posture, the fidgeting hands and the morbid air about him. He never was the optimistic one and she could just see the dismal pictures of pain and gore running through his disheartened mind. Disentangling herself from Bill's protective grip, Ginny kneeled in front of him and took his restless hands within her own, looking up into the hidden brimming eyes.

"Ron?" she whispered to him softly, calling him out of the hopeless pit he plunged himself into. "Ron, listen to me. Snap out of your black visions and listen to Healer Kurren. Everything is going to be all right, you hear me? Don't you even dare thinking about something horrible, you understand? Ron?"

"I can't lose her, Gin," came the barely audible whisper that no one beside her heard.

Squeezing his hands reassuringly, she watched him glance up and nod at the Healer, giving his consent for the Muggle procedure. Returning the curt nod, Healer Kurren left the huddled family to prepare for the operation.

Amidst the reassuring pats on the back and the kind words of encouragement that filled the family circle as the decision was made, no one noticed Draco Malfoy talking to the Healer and then slipping out of the hallway.

--------------------------------------

"Thank you."

The words seemed odd and out of place to her. Ginny never thought there would ever be a day when she'd be sitting at a table across from Draco Malfoy and thanking him from the bottom of her heart. But here she was, at a small table in the visitors' Tea Room on the fifth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital, and there he was, as composed and as untouchable as ever, surprise leaving his delicate teacup frozen just in front of his lips. Apparently he wasn't expecting her to say that.

But what else was she suppose to say to him after he somehow managed to make sure Healer Pye would arrive just in time for Hermione's operation. Of course, he didn't take the credit for this miraculous arrival and neither did Healer Pye mention anything regarding the reason for his unexpected appearance. But who else would have the power and the audacity to cut a man's family vacation short and bring him to the hospital in matter of mere hours, if not a Malfoy?

So she followed him when he left the Weasleys, bidding his farewells while thanking Molly for her generous invitation and wishing Ron all the joys of fatherhood with a rather undecided expression, before making his way to the elevators down the hallway. She made it just before the elevator doors slid closed, which earned her an odd glance from the corner of Draco's eyes. She said nothing, feeling uncomfortable talking in an elevator, and remained silent when he pressed the button for the fifth floor - the Tea Room.

And now they were sitting in complete silence, awkwardness heavily shrouding their table, and to her utter horror she found herself staring at his face. It seemed too pale and too perfectly shaped to be human. But his mouth was just a tad too wide for his face and there was a deeply shorn line leading from one of his nostrils to the left side of his mouth, perpetuated by years of mirthless sneers, and those prevented him from looking like an impossibly statuesque being.

"What ever for?" he asked uninterestedly, finally finishing his paused sip.

Ginny frowned. Could it be that she was wrong and it really wasn't him who got the Healer to come to the Hospital? Could it just be a coincidence that Draco slipped away and came back just a little before Healer Pye arrived?

"The Healer, Augustus Pye, I thought it was your doing."

He arched single brow, conveying surprise. "Why on earth would you think so, Weasley?"

"Really, why would I?" Ginny frowned again, looking into her teacup in mild disappointment. She'd hoped.

Draco glanced down at her and picked up his teacup to hide the smirk tugging at the side of his lips, but the action drew Ginny's attention up and she noticed the gesture, a smile growing on her lips.

"You did, didn't you?"

"Please! Don't even entertain such preposterous thoughts, Weasley," he rolled his eyes in alleged irritation, but there was a subtle shift in his exterior.

She realized that he really did and the thought brought a wider smile onto her face. Shaking her head slightly, she took a sip of her tea. "Do you think you could stop calling me by my last name?"

Draco narrowed his eyes subtly, casting her a guarded glance. "I didn't think you would appreciate me referring to you as 'you'."

"Why can't you call me Ginny?"

"Your first name? I don't know. You might start thinking I'm actually interested in this acquaintance continuing."

"Aren't you?"

"Maybe," he replied after a long pause.

"Well then, call me Ginny. Come now, try it out…"

He stared at her apprehensively and opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out of it. He closed it, looking away for a moment and when he turned back to face her, the trademark smirk was crowning his features. "I can't bring myself to say it, I fear my tongue will fall off."

Ginny threw him a reprimanding glare. "Infantile."

"At your service…"

"Prat."

"Wench."

"Cad."

"Weasel."

"Oh, original!" She rolled her eyes.

"Red."

"Ironic." She smirked noting the already fading neon red atop of his head.

"This'll fade," he countered evenly.

She smiled at him impishly, stifling a cackle. "Or so you think."

That seemed to phase through his façade as he froze, staring at her through bleakly horrified eyes. Quickly grasping a loose lock, he noted the fading color with a sigh of relief and shot her a venomous glare. "Brat."

"Ferret."

"Ouch."

Ginny couldn't help the burst of laughter at the visible cringe he didn't bother to hide and the precious memories of Draco Malfoy's short-lived appearance as the Amazing Bouncing Ferret in her third year.

Which earned her a halfhearted scoff and an absent headshake. "And she calls me infantile… do you know how uncomfortable it is to be hexed into an animal and back? Very."

"Thank Merlin I'll never have the pleasure," she managed to utter midst the giggling.

He rolled his eyes impatiently and said nothing else, staring out of the window and waiting for her to calm down. When she finally did, she didn't open her mouth to say anything and didn't press the name issue, so they lapsed into an odd kind of contented silence for a while.

"Thank you." Ginny broke the quiet, her eyes fixated on a distant storm cloud and her face rather solemn. "Not just for Healer Pye, but--" She lingered, drawing a shaky breath. "--for everything."

She didn't know what exactly made her open her mouth at this ungodly hour of the night, when the only sound in the deserted Tea Room was the persistent pounding of the rain against the windowpane and her conversant was an old school nemesis. But at the moment she was caught up in the still grayness of the image they found themselves in and she allowed herself to speak freely, without fearing scathing uncalled for retorts. Though the images of their previous fight were still fresh in her mind and she didn't know whether to be angry or ashamed or reprimanded, and despite the occasional snide remark and the cold demeanor, Ginny realized she _was_ thankful for him.

He tore his gaze from the dismal picture of raining London and looked at her for a long while before nodding once and picking up his teacup again. "Did you think what you're going to do now?"

Ginny was amazed at how calm and level he sounded, as if he had every possible right to be prying into her personal affairs and there was absolutely nothing wrong or odd about that. An exasperated sigh escaped her lips and for a moment she thought she might snap. But she tightened the grip around her teacup and looked outside of the window again, bitterly admitting to herself that somehow Draco attained the right to question her about this particular situation. _Still_, she thought to herself, scanning the London peaks showered with heavy silver raindrops, _he doesn't have to seem so nonchalant about it_.

"Why do you care?" The words were small and almost inaudible, but had to be said. She fully expected him to ignore her question or respond simply that he really didn't, but she just had to utter the fluttering thought before it gnawed its way through her mind.

A short exhaled frittered passed his lips as he leaned against the backrest of his chair and dropped his gaze onto the cooling auburn liquid in his cup. "Care is too strong of a word," he finally said, tilting his head slightly to the side. "I am… inquisitive."

"Intrusive more like it," she quipped with a cocked brow, sipping her tea. "Runs in the family, apparently."

"Do not judge the Malfoys by my father," he snapped briskly, fixing her with a glare.

Ginny blinked in alarm and confusion, staring at Draco with slightly wide eyes. "I meant your Grandfather, actually. Real busybody that one."

Her words seem to surprise him and she saw his ice crack slightly as he looked away, for the first time unable to find the right thing to say.

Watching Draco, Ginny was startled when she recognized the faint signs of Malfoy embarrassment - his posture ever so straighter, his jaws set in a defiant angle and the barely evident frown line between his light brows. And she wasn't startled by the fact that he was self-conscious about the misinterpretation, but by the fact that she actually recognized the fine inconspicuous signs.

Perplexed, Ginny realized that despite her remarks about the Malfoy lineage, which flashed through her mind out of force of a habit, she no longer considered the wholesome of the family as undiluted evil. She tried remembering when and how exactly the revelation and the shift in her beliefs took place, but was unable. It also occurred to her that Draco no longer was the infamous Slytherin Nemesis, who had to be hated in the brief and random encounters in Hogwarts hallways.

She snorted a laugh at that, her eyes drawing automatically to see if Draco had heard her. He did and his response was the delicate inquiring arch of his brow.

"I just thought," Ginny began, wondering if he could see the humor in the situation as well. "I just realized that you are not 'The Enemy' anymore."

"Took you this long? A bit on the slow side, are we?" Draco smirked, the tension in his shoulders easing up ever so slightly as he found her sudden insight amusing.

"No," Ginny scowled at him lightheartedly. "I just tried to redefine you. I mean, if you're not 'The Enemy', then what are you? A neutral human being I used to dislike? A recurring guest star in the story of my life? An UWO - unidentified wizarding object? A friend, perhaps?" she paused at the word, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "Are you a friend?"

He seemed immensely amused by her rambling and didn't make a move to stop her. He watched with a smile though, but when the question was directed supplied only a one-shouldered shrug.

"Perhaps 'friend' is too strong of a word as well. You are… more of an acquaintance," she finally decided.

Draco gave her a small lopsided smile, shaking his head tiredly. "An acquaintance that wants you to stop talking nonsense and answer his question," he said suddenly, his sharp voice contradicting the entertained glint in his eyes.

"What question?" She feigned confusion.

"The one you're so inanely avoiding," he clarified over the rim of his teacup.

Ginny scoffed in immature indignation. "You're too bossy to be an acquaintance…"

"And you're too obvious to be attempting the subtle arts of forestalling," he countered almost reassuringly.

"You're too nosy not to care, too," she grumbled in response.

He threw her an aggravated look, his lips pursed in annoyance and his eyes boring. "Fine, then. Don't talk."

For a moment he seemed almost sullen in his silence as he broke his stare from her and instead glared outside, aimlessly scanning the dark yet glimmering city. He was still a Malfoy; still the capricious, arrogant, infuriating man she loathed so many times when he spoke out of place. But she had come to understand that he was far better than the capricious, arrogant, infuriating boy she once hated, and that for some reason he wanted her to talk to him, to confide in him.

She couldn't actually talk about the situation to anyone in the family for fear of making them dreadfully uncomfortably. They could never understand everything, in any case. On the other hand, Draco didn't seem in the least unnerved by the subject and knew more about the situation than he probably should have. It was more than mildly bizarre to even be considering it, but she cleared her throat, gathering her thoughts, and opened her mouth.

"I have no idea," came the short yet the true declaration. Glancing at him as he tore his eyes from the window and looked at her cautiously, she couldn't help but question him, "How come it seems you do?"

She expected him to withdraw, as he always did when confronted with a question he didn't care to answer. She expected him to scowl and glare at her suspiciously, making an excuse to leave immediately or act upon the Slytherin inbred paranoia and demand her to explain herself. She expected him to become bitingly frigid or coldly aloof, but she didn't expect him to stare at her with an unfamiliar sense of bitterness in his eyes. She did not expect him to answer.

"I've seen what you're going through before… in my mother."

Ginny was caught off guard by the honesty in his reply, which made him smirk. She didn't think he would actually speak about this to her, and though she knew about Lucius' feats from Ora, it was shocking nonetheless to see him utter it.

"When she finally decided that she had enough," Draco spoke again, preferring to look out of the window instead of her. "She made it all the way to the Foyer, before realizing he was the one who held all the funds, who chose her social circles and was in fact the only one she had. She also knew as much about taking care of herself then as she did when she still went to Hogwarts and her parents were in charge of her life."

She stared at him in barely hidden disbelief, as he gazed at the gray dome over the murky city with astonishing impassiveness, the callous lighting striking him in a peculiar angle and giving him an edgy luminance. At that moment, when Ginny's breath threatened to hitch, she thought that in a sickly perverse way he looked more human, almost reachable, in his pain.

"He gave her everything she ever asked for and it was always the best, and in return…" He paused for a moment, his mouth moving to say something, but not a sound leaving his lips. Picking up his teacup, he brought it to his lips, and upon noticing that it was empty, placed it down. "He crippled her."

Ginny blanched at the sound of that word for some reason, a fierce tremor shooting down her spine. Her chest tightened and her hands begin to shake, forcing her to put down her own cup. Feeling sick, she ran a hand through her hair and murmured quietly, "So I'm crippled as well?"

Draco replied in silence, only breaking it with the sounds of his teacup scraping the saucer beneath it as he turned it this way and that. When he finally spoke, there was a trace of something unrecognizable in his voice.

"No," he said. "You made it past the foyer."

  
--------------------------------------  


The front door of the Malfoy Manor slid compliantly into its rightful place, clicking softly as it latched into the lock, sealing the entrance shut. Draco removed his winter cloak in complete silence, deciding against waking the greeting elf to take it away, and made his way to the library, having no reservations whatsoever about waking his Grandfather at such an hour. He had to talk to someone and the occupant of the tyrant portrait in the library was the closest thing to confidant Draco had ever had.

He didn't know what made him talk to Ginny back at the Hospital's Tea Room. What made him tell her what only few others knew? It was just that at the time, sitting across from her and seeing her almost squirm with dread and uncertainty, he couldn't find a reason _not_ to tell her. There was a fleeting thought, at some point, that she would find out eventually anyway, so there was no harm in telling her straightforward.

Now, the more he dwelled on it, the more he couldn't understand where the thought originated. It was almost as if he was somehow positive that she wasn't going anywhere, that their questionable acquaintance was going to last well past her turmoil, past the article she was assigned to do on Malfoy Incorporated.

Draco couldn't bring himself to hope. He barely allowed himself to admit he indeed wished to hope.

Drawing a deep wavering breath, Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and slid into the dark library. A wave of his wand supplied the needed illumination as he made his way through the maze-like bookshelves to the back of the vast chamber where the portrait of Sir Lynus Malfoy graced the wall near the northern windows.

The incessant buzzing just behind his eyes refused to fade away, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut in hopes of subduing the pain. Hand brushing against the books on his way, he turned for the last time, finally arriving in the hidden alcove. The pain finally subsiding, Draco shrugged off the settling sense of unease and opened his eyes. Sir Lynus wasn't in his painting, which of course was completely understandable, as no intelligent being would ever choose the drafty library as their retreat for the night, but that not to say that the alcove was deserted.

A shudder cascaded down Draco's spine as he recognized the odd grin of the person that currently occupying his favorite armchair. The same beguilingly oblivious brown eyes graced with a twinkling lilt; the same wide slightly lopsided grin shining with the intensity of overly white teeth; the same burly build and the same dark toned skin supported the same immaculate posture; the same freshly pressed pristine robes of dark hues hid the hideous mark on his left forearm.

At the sight of Draco's barely hidden astonishment, the uninvited guest shook his head and the same baritone laughter spilled out of his mouth.

"Blaise," Draco's voice finally broke through the silence, stating the obvious for unneeded confirmation. "You seem different from the last time I saw you. Perhaps because the last time I saw you, you were crying and begging for mercy when the Dementors came to drag you away to Azkaban."

"That's odd," Blaise Zabini countered with a wide smile and the same nonchalant drawl as his conversant. "The last time I saw you, you were white as a ghost when I pointed someone's wand at you, preparing to utter the Killing Curse."

"You know you would have missed."

"No." Blaise laughed, pushing himself from the armchair with some difficulty, and faced Draco again. "I know you're sure as hell grateful that the court clerk didn't."

The bleak expression on Draco's face finally broke into a grin, and he charged his old friend, embracing him in a tight hug. The baritone laughter rumbled against his chest again as Blaise grasped him tighter, hefting him off of the ground and into the air. Draco screamed, cussing under his breath, and demanded to be put down again.

Blaise Zabini hasn't changed in the least for the past ten years, in which the majority of the wizarding community presumed him to be locked away in Azkaban along with the other Death Eaters. Of course, in regards to most of the Second War issues, the wizarding community was always led to presume incorrectly.

Because of the public Death Eater trials and some questionable issues regarding Zabini's switch of sides at the end of the war, the Order was forced to let him be trialed and sentenced in the full severity of his accusations. Only a small group of Order members were aware that Blaise Zabini has never reached Azkaban prison, and that somehow in the midst of the after-War chaos in the Ministry someone had forgotten to report it. Blaise was provided with new documents that claimed him to be his own twin brother, Andrew, who'd been discovered as a Squib and sent off to live with their Grandparents in France years ago. Blaise's wand had been broken after the trial and he has been prohibited to use any magic, forcing him to live among the Muggles. He was still entitled to the Zabini inheritance - whatever was left after the Ministry's raid on every prominent Death Eaters' house - but was nonetheless advised to leave the country so as not to raise too many unwanted questions.

The last time Draco had seen him was in a staged breakout attempt in front of the Wizengamot ten years ago. The last he heard of his ancient friend, he was residing in France and held a high position at some Muggle vehicle cartel.

"Zabini, let me down, you oaf! I can't breathe!" Draco roared through the laughter and was finally granted his request when Blaise swayed slightly, having almost lost the balance at one point.

"Still as squeamish as I remember," the black wizard commented, stumbling and collapsing back into the armchair.

Draco released a chuckle. Settling at the nearby window seat, he glanced at Blaise from the corner of his eye. Suddenly a sense of terrible dread overcame him at the sight of his oldest best friend. Draco only now noticed that he seemed awfully ill. His skin was clammy and a disturbing sheen of pallor engulfed him. Despite the ever-present grin, his eyes were sickly glazed and his fingers shook slightly in their clasped state on his lap.

Draco's heart lurched again and dark thoughts recoiled within his mind. "Blaise, what are you doing here?" Those were the words that came out, but Draco knew that that wasn't the actual question.

By the pained lopsided smile that Blaise offered him, it seemed that the other wizard understood it as well. Inhaling loudly, he swiped the sweat off his face with shaky hands and leaned his head onto the backrest. "Draco, my friend, when was the last time you saw your left forearm?"

Draco's heart sank into the pit of his stomach and his already pale skin lost its last traces of color. The left forearm was the dwelling of the Dark Lord's mark and all the switched Death Eaters were known to cast several charms on the entire arm to hide the gruesome engraving and immunize against the residual poisons. He hadn't seen it in over a month.

Draco swallowed hard. "What about it?" he asked hollowly, staring at Blaise in a silent pray that his words wouldn't be as horrifying as Draco's thoughts.

Tilting his head to the side in what almost could've been considered an apology, Blaise heaved his sleeve over his forearm, revealing an over-inflamed silhouette of the dreaded mark. His arm, shaded in an ailing green tinge, trembled as he held it up to Draco's inspection, and when he spoke after a stretched silence, Draco could hear through the casual drawl to the traces of unsolicited fear.

"He's back."


	15. For Me

**Disclaimer:** I have my own worlds. Why would I claim JK?s as my own? 

**Author's Notes:** _BIG_ chapter, aren't you happy? This will have to do, in any case. I participate in the NaNoWriMo, so wish my lugs and lots of candy! This thing is nearing the end, so rejoice people. Rejoice:)

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**15 : For Me**

Ginny Weasley was standing in the middle of the Chamber of Secrets, surrounded by countless blurs and splashes of movement - some were of her kin, her family and friends, and some of the loathsome enemy. Bright sparks and jets of lethal projectiles pierced the air around her. Curses were flung with unwavering velocity through gritted teeth, bleeding lips and sore throats. Men and women collapsed all around her, screaming out in pain or slumping in perfect silence, never to speak again.

With all hell breaking loose around her, Ginny was barely aware of the excruciating pain in her broken leg, the blood trickling into her eyes obscuring her vision with a crimson sheen, the dangerous vertigo that made the room swim before her in red waves, or her own hoarse voice sending countless wizards stumbling out of their consciousness. She was only vaguely aware of the fact that this evening would determine the lives of millions, her family and herself included, and that she would be playing a crucial part in this battle. Nothing really mattered while the curses escaped her lips in a rapid, frantic flow while her eyes distractedly scanned the crowd for the familiar figure of Harry Potter.

She finally noticed the raven-haired boy not that far from her. He was engaged in the most important battle, the one between himself and the darkest wizard that ever lived. It seemed to her they were locked in a battle quite separate from the one she herself was participating in, engulfed in their own reality where nothing else, but the opponent, existed. They moved together, almost coordinated, almost with consideration for the other's move. Ginny had never told Harry how much alike he was to the dark-haired prefect she befriended in her first year. She never wanted to tell him about the uncanny resemblance that sometimes frightened her. She tried to ignore it and push it away, but now she couldn't ignore it anymore. Their moves were practically identical and every spell was countered with the same spell, neither yielding nor understanding that there was no use to this - neither could win, for they were both the same. She couldn't determine whether it was Harry that resembled Tom or Tom that resembled Harry. And wait, weren't they the same person just a moment ago?

She shook her head and wiped the sweat and blood from her eyes. Watching them again, she was appeased by the vision of two separate entities, battling each other relentlessly. _They aren't the same,_ she assured herself. _Harry is better. _

As if the Fates decided to spite her childish beliefs at that moment, her heart leapt in her chest at the sight of Harry tripping over a sprawled wizard clad in black robes. At that moment she suddenly became aware of an acute feeling nesting in her throat, her stomach, her hands and her very soul. It was the only acute feeling in the sea of shapeless cries and soundless blurs of color, which inadvertently made it the only feeling she felt consciously. It was the same feeling that made her fight so desperate, so frantic and wild. The same feeling that firmly and heavily settled in her abdomen, rattling and hissing like a heinous snake.

That feeling was fear. But unlike the usual fear that crooned in her heart - fear derived from her bottomless concern for Harry's safety, from her fathomless love for the awkward By Who Lived - this fear, for the first time since she could remember, was directed at herself and her family and the wizarding community in general. Because when she saw Harry lose his immaculate balance, if only for an imperceptible moment, it sent a clear and thunderous thought throughout her head - Harry Potter was only human and he may, despite however she felt and whatever she believed in wholeheartedly, fail. And if he failed, she would die and so would her family and her friends and their families and friends and their families and friends.

Ginny Weasley didn't want to die. Neither did she want her family and friends to die. And that was exactly why her body was suddenly immersed in a thick and heavy cloak of paralyzing fear. She just stood there, staring at the battling twosome and hoping with every last fiber of her being that she wasn't wrong with her beliefs.

She barely noticed the bolt of purple sparks shoot out towards her from a wand of one of her relentless opponents. She vaguely noticed a dark smudge of some faceless Order member shield her from the hex almost with his own body, before redirecting it away. She only became aware of herself when the same Order member grabbed her around the waist and hauled her struggling form to the nearest snake-like pillar, depositing her unceremoniously behind it, while hissing about her stupidity.

It didn?t matter though, because her haven provided a clear view of the most important battle. She could peacefully watch Harry's victory to make sure that she and her family would not be in any kind of danger.

However, the longer she watched the battle, the harder it became for her to distinguish between the two fighting figures, because gradually, with every blow and every spell, they were becoming uncannily identical. At the end of the battle, when one of them was standing high and proud, laughing and receiving congratulations from all the Order members, and the other laid lifeless at his feet, Ginny felt her mouth dry up completely when she realized she wasn?t at all positive that the winner had been Harry.

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Ginny's eyes fluttered open slowly and she welcomed the familiar silhouettes of the various knickknacks in her tiny bedroom on the third floor of The Burrow. The troubling images of her recent dream drifted into her mind and indifferently frittered away, leaving nothing behind, but a parched sensation at the back of her throat and a slightly overexcited heart rate.

She yawned lazily, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. It was still dark outside and Ginny contemplated going back to sleep for a moment. After the night she had, she needed all the rest the hours could offer her. Draco Malfoy's appearance at the front porch of her parent's house was only a beginning to the bizarre and overly excited evening she had the previous day. It was only a meager prelude to breaking of Hermione's waters, an ancient lethal bacterium, Muggle operations and a heart-felt talk with the same Malfoy who showed immaculate self-restriction when the twins charmed his hair red.

Ginny exhaled a puff of air and rubbed her face, her heart brimmed once again with the gratitude to all the deities that heeded to her prayers during the crawling hours of the operation. It had been a success and only three hours after she walked Draco to the front entrance of the hospital, Healer Kurren congratulated Ron on the birth of his beautiful baby girl. Overwhelmed with the immense relief and the breaking news, he became lightheaded and smartly fainted mere feet from Hermione's room.

However, once regaining his fickle conscious, he joined the rest of the family crowding around the simple hospital cot, cooing and gently prodding a bundle of pink fluffy blankets. Olivia Perdita Weasley - Olivia being one of the most respected Weasley matriarchs, while Perdita taken from the Shakespearean play 'A Winter's Tale', from which Hermione's own name was derived - was delivered at two thirty in the morning on what proved to be an unusually calm autumn night, by Healers Kurren and Pye. Both child and mother were feeling extremely well after the operation. The same couldn't have been said about the father, who just stood at his wife's bed staring at the writhing pink creature in her arms, mouth agape and heart thumping out of his chest.

Ginny laughed loudly at this sight, relief washing over her in giddy waves. Bill had held her at the time, noticing that she was too close to her breaking point, and laughed along with her all the way back to the Burrow. After the wretched hours in the waiting area, her hands hadn't stopped shaking up until she crept into the small bed in her childhood bedroom.

Everything was all right now, she reminded herself repeatedly, absently rubbing her forehead and staring out of the window. Ron and Molly had stayed at the Hospital overnight while the others returned home shortly after her. News was passed to the frantic family members who were all tightly clustered in the living room and the kitchen and some still outside in the garden. Of course such information required renewed and jovial celebrations in honor of another member of the abundant clan. Fred and George were only too happy to arrange enough butterbeer and light snacks to last through the night.

Ginny however was too exhausted to join the celebrations and quietly slipped upstairs to call it a night. After a quick shower and a promise to Aunt Eloise - who cornered her right when she was leaving the bathroom - to catch up on things the next day, she finally laid down and closed her eyes. She drifted to sleep immediately.

But unlike the previous nights when she was greeted with horrid sights of defeat and death and strong almost suffocating emotions, this time her night terror swam before her, not quite touching or influencing her. Fear and trepidation still coiled within her, but they were far less ominous, and Ginny was able to simply accept them as a part of her dream, not taking anything into herself.

However there was one thing that was simply impossible to accept absentmindedly as a part of the dream. Vague traces of clean cold scent mingling with what seemed to be smell of a bad Earl Grey imitation swirled about her in white curling tendrils, not unlike the rising steams from a hot cup of tea drunk on a cold upsetting evening. That concept inadvertently led to the memory of her talk with Draco from the previous night and Ginny found herself in deep thought yet again.

After her talk with him in the hospital Tea Room she felt better, more at peace with herself. She still had no idea exactly where she was headed next, but something about the air around them in the deserted canteen, made her realize that soon things would fall into better places. Meanwhile, she would start with the simplest things - like the questions Draco had presented to her at the Burrow - and would concentrate on finding answers to them.

It felt good to have a starting point, because glancing at the road she had to tread from now on, Ginny decided she needed all the points she could get. Rebuilding her life and herself with no one beside her to show her all the shortcuts was something she never thought she?d be forced to experience. And now that she was standing alone at the very beginning, she couldn?t help but feel the dread for the first time in years, along with everything else.

But, she soothed herself, she would not be completely alone on her way. At least not for a while, because Draco seemed quite willing to escort her through the various trepidations. And unlike Harry, who would've done everything for her like he had all the while, Draco refused to give her the answers. Instead he watched her through everything from the sidelines, once in a while prodding her in the correct direction. In her state, confused and tired, she didn't know whether what Draco did was better overall, but she quite clearly realized that it was far better than what Harry had done for all these years.

A stray twinge in her chest revealed yet another foreboding flashing through her mind. She found herself partial to the idea of parting ways with Draco once this whole ordeal - and the article, she reminded herself, after almost wholly forgetting about it - was over. She realized that it was quite foolish to be forming a sort of dependence on him right after leaving Harry, and that replacing one unhealthy habit with another was defying the whole purpose of her journey, but she couldn't fight off the feeling that there was something else there beside the dependence.

She disagreed with him about them being mere acquaintances, because somehow during the past few weeks, he had become a full-fledged friend. On some level, a friend closer than Hermione ever could be, because there was something she could never talk to anyone else _but_ him. He understood some of the things that were going through her mind, which eased the constant pressure of explaining herself. He cared - _despite whatever it is he claims,_ Ginny rolled her eyes - he asked and expected answers; he also ribbed and pestered and drawled - _may the Gods help me_ - but he was an actual friend.

Something Harry never quite was. He was the Hero, the boyfriend, the fianc, the husband, the lover the caretaker, the Boy Who Lived. But he never was an actual friend, an equal to whom she could look to at eye level. He was always so much more, carried on a heightened pedestal somewhere above her by the people and everything around them, and she couldn?t remember a time when she didn't look _up_ at him.

Draco was an equal to whom she was leveled almost perfectly. Even if he claimed to be above her by the leverage of money and social status, Ginny felt completely comfortable with knocking him off his high broom and hauling him right where he belonged - in front of her.

The thought produced a vision of Draco Malfoy in his green Quidditch robes being yanked off his broom in midair by her and held there, hands and legs flailing while lips cursed and cussed in five different languages. Ginny burst out laughing, stifling it almost immediately by stuffing the sleeve of her Chuddley's Cannons sweatshirt, that served as her nightwear for many Hogwarts years, into her mouth. She was sharing the room with two Prewett cousins and the last thing she wanted to do was wake them by her inane giggling. Besides, she always preferred to muse in quiet lonesome atmosphere.

She crawled out of her bed, careful not to make too much noise with the damnable creak in her bed, and tiptoed barefoot out of her room. The dead silence in the hallway informed her that she was indeed the only occupant of the house awake, so she didn?t bother with the robe and headed straight to the kitchen. She would make herself a delectable cup of hot cocoa and snuggle into one of her Mum?s quilts on the couch in front of the eternally burning fireplace.

Rubbing her arms against the chill, she moved into the kitchen and set a kettle full of water onto the stove, manually lighting a fire underneath it. She glanced outside, seeing that the table had been cleaned away after the renewed celebration in honor of Olivia Perdita - she really had to talk to Hermione about deciding on a nickname for the girl, preferably sooner rather than later - and therefore that job will not be placed upon her. A small note to her Mother on the counter near the mounds of washed dishes revealed to her that the twins were in a highly generous mood the previous evening.

Smiling, she decided that it was nice to start the morning on a positive note once in a while. She went through the motions of making hot cocoa with nothing on her mind but the hot steam rising from the overly large mug, reminding her of the steam from a cup of tea. After adding the milk, Ginny picked up her cup and turned around in order to make her way back to the living room, only to be scared out of her skin by the sight of Aunt Eloise silently standing at the door.

The heavy mug toppled to the floor out of her grip, spilling hot cocoa all over her bare legs and feet. She howled in pain and jumped out of the scalding puddle, cursing loudly against the pain and grabbing a towel, immediately trying to dab away the heat from her thighs. She smothered the desire to growl an accusation at her aunt and instead glanced at her sheepishly, wanting to smooth the atmosphere.

However the oddly familiar picture Aunt Eloise presented, leaning against the threshold - arms crossed at her chest, lips curled into a smirk, and eyes roaming over her bare legs in an almost indecent manner - made her swallow her words. Instead she mumbled a quiet 'Good morning' and crouched down beside the shattered mug to gather its pieces, thinking that too much service had broken in this house the past twelve hours.

"My, my, dear... what a clumsy creature you've become. Let me," Aunt Eloise said in a strangely hoarse voice and waved her wand at the ruined cup and the spilled beverage. In a flash, the repaired cup wholly refilled with sweetly smelling cocoa hovered beside Ginny's head.

Ginny smiled gratefully at her aunt, plucking the mug from midair and rising to her feet. "Thank you, Aunt Eloise. You startled me there, I didn?t know anyone was up yet?"

"Yes, it is very early in the day. Especially after the day we had yesterday," Aunt Eloise smiled and finally entered the kitchen, dropping her hands to her side and regaining her usual aunt-stance. She took a seat at the table and motioned for Ginny to join her, which she - secretly begrudging - did. "I just couldn't sleep, dear, you know? With Hermione and the birth, I just... oh, it just reminded me so much of the times Nathan and Carly were still young."

Her eyes glazed slightly and she seemed to drift away for a moment in blissful memories of her children. Ginny had no actual desire to participate in any sort of conversation at the moment, so she said nothing, settling for a small sip of her cocoa. _Too much sugar,_ she stated to herself, placing the mug onto the table and deciding on making another one once Aunt Eloise retreated to her room.

Aunt Eloise, who seemed to refocus back on the present at the sound of mug scraping the table surface, looked at Ginny with something gleaming in her eyes, something that caused her unease. "Children are a blessing, Ginny dear, don't you agree?"

Ginny blinked profusely, not quite expecting that question to pop out like that. "Umm, well, yes, I presume. When the time is right, children could be very... umm, appropriate." she completed uncertainly, not wanting to guess where this conversation was going, but quite sure she didn't want to go there right now.

"Yes!" Aunt Eloise exclaimed in delight, lacing her fingers together, propping her elbows on the table and her chin on her hands. "So when are we to expect another little Weasley from you and Harry, dear? You are such a pretty girl and he is quite handsome. You two would make such beautiful little darlings! And you know, dear, you are not getting any younger and if you want to follow the lead of all the Weasley women before you, you had to have started years ago! But don?t worry, there is still time to bear as many children as you and Harry may desire."

Ginny stared at her blathering aunt with eyes gaping in utter horror. Was this woman honestly speaking to her about giving birth to dozen little children when she was contemplating the best and the quickest way to leave her husband and start anew? Of course, Aunt Eloise couldn't be blamed for anything, as she didn?t know about Harry, mostly because Ginny chose not to divulge anything that would require explanations she did not care to distribute.

Ginny had thought about children in the hazy days of the past when Harry was still the kind and gentle man she fell in love with. However, the time wasn't right, as Harry cared to explain, with his Auror promotions bombarding him with higher and higher ranks almost weekly, and her working at the _Daily Prophet_, but they would talk about it soon enough, he promised.

They never had, and now Ginny was infinitely grateful.

"I... I don't think you should hold your breath, Aunt Eloise," Ginny replied finally, bracing herself against anything her aunt might bring.

"What do you mean, dear?" There was something strained in her voice as it climbed a notch higher.

"I mean?" Ginny took another breath, feeling she might as well get this over with. "I won't be having any children with Harry, because... because I'm leaving him."

Aunt Eloise stared at her for a long moment, apparently not quite grasping the uttered words. "Excuse me, what?" she blurted flatly, cocking her head forward as if to hear better what she must have misheard the first time. "For a moment there, I thought I heard you say you're _leaving_ him."

"That's because I did," Ginny said cautiously, for some reason sensing a coiling apprehension at her aunt's reaction. "And I am. Leaving him, that is."

"_What_?" Aunt Eloise almost screeched, her plucked brows furrowing deeply and her lips twisting into an odious sneer. "I mean," she cleared her throat, resettling back into her chair at the sight of horrified surprise on Ginny's face. "I mean why-- how come you?re leaving, dear? You seemed so happy the last time I saw you two and you've been together through so much and it's just such, such pity to be throwing such a strong bond away over a little quarrel."

_If you'd only known, Aunt,_ Ginny thought ruefully, shaking her head. _You would've said otherwise?_

"It wasn't a little quarrel, Aunt Eloise, it's--" Ginny looked into the cocoa mug, searching for plausible answers to the questions she did not want to discuss with a distant aunt. "It is just... we've been growing apart lately and... and I don't think we're heading in the same direction anymore."

"Oh dear, that is no reason to break up a perfectly happy marriage," Aunt Eloise bristled, her voice once again under control and saccharine. "You've had your time apart and now all you need is return home and support your husband no matter what. Such a foolish decision shouldn't be accepted in the heat of a disagreement," she chided good-naturedly and shook one of her manicured fingers at Ginny, releasing a chuckle at her expression.

Ginny eyed the wiggling finger in front of her face, her eyes crossing and blinking in surprised. She sensed the undeniable air of a person talking to a child, and she didn't appreciate it in the least. Nor did she appreciate being called foolish by someone who considered stuffed animals suitable house ornaments. And what in the name of Merlin and Morgana was she going on about supporting her husband no matter what? As if her fights with Uncle Henry weren't a notorious gossip fuel at family gatherings!

"Aunt Eloise, thank you for caring, I really appreciate it--" - she really didn't - "-- but... I don't think there is anything that would make me to return there. Some... things happened and I just realized that there are too many irreconcilable differences between us for our marriage to continue. We want different things, really."

Aunt Eloise stared at Ginny silently, blinking once in a while and pursing her lips in thought. Ginny hoped her aunt would not notice that she had given her any possible excuse she could think up without actually saying a thing about anything, and would not call her upon it. She didn't and Ginny was relieved. However when her aunt spoke again, Ginny decided that perhaps it would've been better if she did.

?Does it have anything to do with that Malfoy scum you had the audacity to invite last night?

"Aunt _Eloise_!" Ginny sputtered in indignation and pushed herself away from the table, staring at her aunt with wide disbelieving eyes. "Draco is a close friend of mine who helped me, and this family on several occasions and I will not stand for you to talk this way about him! What on earth could make you say such a thing?"

But the reprimanding didn't strike her aunt as well as Ginny hoped it would, and seeing something atrocious flash in her murky green eyes, made Ginny's anger to flair up.

"So it is 'Draco' now, is it? I've never taken you as _that_ kind of a girl," Aunt Eloise spat viciously, glaring up at her scandalized niece, with arms crossed over her chest. And then, as if to soften a cannonball pummeled at Ginny's stomach, added - "Dear" - in an obviously fake intonation.

There was something strange lacing her livid voice, an odd sort of hissing that unnerved Ginny and infuriated her even more at the same time.

"I've no idea _what_ kind of a girl you've taken me as, but I really hope it wasn?t the kind that would accept such foul implies and accusations lying down!" Ginny bit back, her fingers curling into fists. "I know last night was a very emotional evening for the both of us with everything that has happened to Hermione, but I seriously doubt whether you have any right to speak to me in such a tone." She picked up the cocoa mug and left the table, splashing its contents into the sink, and turned around to glare at her aunt and wait for an explanation.

This time Aunt Eloise seemed taken aback by the ferocity of Ginny's respond and was only able to stare at her with wide eyes and lightly gaping mouth. Her long manicured fingers quickly fluttered to cover her lips and she looked away in apparent shame.

"I-- I... don't know what to say," she finally managed to utter. Her previously obnoxious poise cracked by Ginny's scolding. "Oh forgive me, Ginny dear, I don't know what came over me. I... I just--"

"That's alright, Aunt Eloise," Ginny dismissed her aunt's crippling attempts of apology with a weary sigh. Perhaps she was more tired than she initially thought she was half an hour ago when leaving her warm bed up on the third floor - a bed that seemed to serenade her of soft lands and dreamless slumber at this moment. "As I said... it'd had been a very emotional evening."

"It is just that I was so happy when you and Harry got together after the war... I guess I always assumed you would stay together forever. And now seeing this, this--" Aunt Eloise caught sight of Ginny's warning glare and pursed her lips in mild annoyance. "-- this Malfoy boy - a _Malfoy_, Ginny, a Death Eater son of a Death Eater - sweep in and, and _lure_ you with, with, oh I don?t even know what? Aunt Eloise threw her hands up in exasperation and cast Ginny a pleading look - one Ginny wasn't sure she was buying. "I just don't think it is right to leave Harry for a Malfoy?"

"Aunt Eloise?" Ginny exhaled a frustrated puff of air and folded her arms together, leaning against the counter. "Not that it is any of your respected business, but Draco is _just_ a good friend. He and I are _not_ together. And I am _not_ leaving Harry for Draco," Ginny clarified sternly, her voice clearly indicating that there will be no further questioning. Then, shaking her head, she turned back to the sink and opened the tap of water to wash the used cocoa mug. "I'm leaving him for me."

  
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In the West Wing of the notorious Malfoy Manor, hidden from the nonexistent prying eyes by hundreds of bookshelves and stonewalls and the strongest magical wards, Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini were conversing wordlessly about matters of the past and ominous present over endless supply of "Old Ogden's Extra Thunderous Firewhisky". The silence was thick and laden with horrible memories of blood, gore and degrading servitude that still haunted each and every other who was in their place and bore the mark as well. Bottle after bottle the Firewhiskey was depleting still, and yet the memories remained as sharp and vivid as ever, and the words that were spoken several hours before in this very alcove in the Malfoy Library, were still as true as ever.

He was back.

Blaise picked up his glass after refilling it yet again with the dark mauve liquid and steadily brought it to his lips. However midway through the air, his hand twitched nervously and half of the brew splashed down his hand, soaking through the fabric of his once-starched shirt. He cursed and dropped the glass down, muttering obscenities while trying to dab away the liquid. His whole body had been shaking and jerking, weakening all the evening, but it was the loss of perfectly good alcohol that drove the man to such foul language.

Draco, with eyes still firmly locked on something behind Blaise, pulled out his wand and charmed away the spilled liquid and the stains on the shirt, accepting the grunt of gratitude with a nod. He dropped the wand onto the table between them, almost carelessly and continued drinking his own firewhisky with the same faraway gaze in his eyes. Thoughts and musings ran through his mind, but none were actually able to catch his attention long enough to anchor themselves, so they just flashed about as colors and sounds and shapes he couldn?t quite decipher.

But, no wait... he could decipher one face. A small, round imitation of the once-jovial features he began to take an odd interest in through his sixth year at Hogwarts. A pair of eyes too brown and too big for his comfort drifted into focus and a heavy dusting of faded freckles that were no longer that salient yet still as noticeable as ever, speckled her cheeks. Color invaded the image, painting almost everything a violent shade of red and making his chest tighten with strange resigning sorrow.

When the silence was finally broken it was because of the last bottle of Ogden's Firewhisky had been downed quicker than anticipated. Both men exchanged grave looks, but despite Draco's glare that forbade any attempts at verbal communication, Blaise opened his mouth.

"What are you going to do?"

"Me?" Draco feigned incredulous intonation, one slender hand gesturing at himself as if to clarify the implications with visual aids. Of course he knew that Blaise would expect him to do something about it - to act, to report to the right authorities, to stop this nonsense this instant. Blaise seldom believed in anyone but himself to solve the problem, but when he did, it was a blind and desperate belief that he was unlikely to let go of. Draco didn't want that kind of belief placed upon himself, and he will be damned if he was forced to endure it for others' benefit. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Go to the Ministry," Blaise offered, his voice urging and mildly anxious. His frustration and fear were becoming painfully noticeable with every passing hour, and he had to admit to himself that living with the Muggles had softened him. "Go to Snape, go to McGonagall, for Merlin's sake. Tell Weasley! I heard he's now a big shot among the Aurors. Tell someone! This has to be stopped!"

"_You_ go to the Ministry!" Draco slurred indignantly, checking the last bottle a second time for any missed drops. "Why did you come to me? Do I look like Potter to you?" _Potter_, the thought flashed through his mind in a hazy blur. _I hope Ginny will go to the Ministry and authorizing a Warding against him. Merlin knows where he is and what he?s planning on doing next. He cannot be all that jolly about me helping her that night? _

"Draco!" Blaise's voice cut through his musings.

"What?" Draco bit back, not appreciating being interrupted.

"I _said_ you know I can?t go to the bloody Ministry! I'm supposed to be my own Squib twin brother? and the presence of an infected Dark Mark on my left arm might make them question that. I'm not even supposed to be back in the country!"

"But what do you want _me_ for?" Draco slurred. The back of his mind, that still remained calmly sober though unreachable, noticed the whiney tone of his voice and blathered about it being unbecoming for Malfoy to not only slur, but whine while doing so. Obviously, that voice was promptly ignored.

Blaise stared at him for a moment, brows furrowing in deep contemplation and eyes swimming in and out of focus occasionally."I never knew Malfoys could whine?"

Draco swatted at him over the table, managing to topple the empty bottle off the table. He glowered at the offending object lolling noisily on the wooden floor, willing it to disappear or be muted, but it only stopped grating on his nerves when Ora appeared and picked it up, disappearing again while mumbling something under her breath in a squeakily grumpy voice.

"Listen, Draco." Blaise waved his hand in front of Draco's face, drawing his attention away from the floor. "Do you understand what this means? The Mark's inflaming? Do you understand that The Boy Wonder apparently did a lousy job - yet again, allow me to mention - and that, that _He_ is back? Do you understand that?"

"Yes, I understand that, Blaise," Draco growled in a low voice, throwing his best friend a searing glare from between the falling strands of tussled hair. "There is not enough Firewhiskey in all of Britain to make me not understand."

"Then why on earth are you acting like a ponce?" Blaise barked, slamming a fist onto the dark wood of the table between them. "Why aren't you calling up every Auror, every favor, every Ministry official you have in your pocket and notifying all the people that should be notified? Why aren't you doing _something_?"

_"Because_!" Draco spat back, slumping against the backrest of his chair and staring out of the window. "Because it doesn't matter, that's why."

"Of course it matters, you wanker!" Blaise countered, leaning closer onto the table. "Of course it matters! We can't let this happen again! We can't let all the hell to break loose just because you prefer to hide under a blanket and wait until everything's done!"

Eyes wide with rage, Draco glared at his best friend with clear livid fury in his eyes. The raw implication that he was acting like a big coward did not go unheard by him, and he tried to will himself to hate Blaise there and then. However, the same blind frustrating belief that was already spreading in him like moss, was visible through the brown of his eyes. There was something else there, though - another sort of desperation Draco had never seen before.

"Draco, we have to do something. He's getting stronger with every day, but he isn't invincible just yet. They could find him and kill him off for good this time before he has a chance to do anything! To _hurt_ anyone!"

There it was again! There was definitely something else in Blaise's eyes apart from the reasonable fear of dying before an executioner. Something more desperate and fiercer than a man's desire to live. Draco just couldn't grasp.

"Blaise, if he is strong enough to be affecting the marks then he's already too strong. And?"

No, this was still inconceivable. The Dark Lord has been vanquished twice already! How could the bastard come back _yet again_? What was it with this wizard that made him evade death left and right? Why wouldn't he just _stay dead_?

"And what?" Blaise bristled, irked by Draco's drifting off.

Draco shook his head and glanced at Blaise, remembering his presence. But he had forgotten what he wanted to say, or whether he wanted to say anything else. "And... and... I don't know, Blaise," he finally exhaled heavily, burying his head in his hands over the table. "I just don't know?"

There was a long silence stretched between the two friends, in which one of them silently bemoaned their cruel fate. Again Blaise was the one to break the silence.

"Listen here, you big nancy," Blaise growled dangerously, his voice rising with every word. "If I'd ever guessed that alcohol makes you go disgustingly soft, I would?ve choked you before letting a drop of such good Firewhisky be wasted on such a sorry excuse of a Slytherin such as you."

Draco lifted his head slightly and glared hatefully at his best friend, finding nothing scathing to say in his absentminded state.

"Now, I am going to call Ora and ask her for some Sobering Solution and I'm going to force it down your throat. Then I'm going to drag your scrawny body and push you into a tub of ice-cold water to shake you out of this. And _then_ I will expect the same bloody bastard I grew to respect come back and talk to me, because I am in no mood to be dealing with your poofter self. So?"

Half an hour later, a sober, slightly wet and still indignant Draco Malfoy resettled back into the same armchair, clad in a black woolen robe with a fluffy gray towel hanging over his dripping head. Across from him, Blaise Zabini was smirking his little Slytherin heart out.

"If I catch pneumonia and die, I'll come back and haunt you," Draco stated casually, rubbing the moisture out of his white-blond hair. As promised by the other Slytherin, he was indeed forced to swallow a horrible tasting potion, then unceremoniously dropped into a bathtub of cold water - which apparently, Ora was highly pleased to prepare - and left there to wash himself back into sobriety. Which he did, grumbling and cursing, before rejoining Blaise in the library.

"If you dare to die before all this resolves, I will haul your arse back," Blaise replied evenly, taking a sip from a steaming mug of hot tea in his hands. He had changed his clothes, discarding the heavy traveling cloak and the tailored three-piece suit in favor of some simple slacks and a woolen sweater. "Now," he began in a serious voice, eyeing Draco over the rim of his cup. "Who are we contacting first? Potter?"

Draco tossed his wet towel onto the nearest windowsill and leaned to the table, lacing his fingers around the available mug of tea. The steam once again brought the image of big brown eyes and violent red, but he scurried to shove them away. It was not the time for... well, for that.

Instead, his eyes traveled to the darkening Mark on his left forearm. He had charmed off the glamour spell while in the bathroom to take a better look at it. Thankfully, years of applying the usual disinfecting charms left his Mark in a better state than Blaise's was. However the darkening was still visible, especially against Draco's pale complexion, which left it looking stark and ominous against his skin.

Drawing a deep breath, Draco shook the sleeve of his robe back over the mark and took a sip from his tea. "No, not Potter. We go to Weasley."

"All right, Weasley then. Afterwards we go to Potter and ma--"

"No, we're not going to Potter. Period." Draco cut him off firmly, eyeing the table again.

"What do you mean we don't go to Potter?" Blaise frowned at him. "It's his fault the Dark Lord survived, so it's his responsibility. He's the one who was meant to kill him, so he should do it. This time for good."

"Let's just say that Potter became a tad unreliable as of recently," Draco said, leaning into his armchair with the tea gripped in his hands.

Blaise's frown only deepened. "What do you mean?"

Draco shook his head and rolled his shoulders, closing his eyes. "Just that. Drop it, Blaise, I'm in no mood to discuss this."

"All right?" Blaise drawled out, eyes still narrowed in mild suspicion. "All right then, Weasley. When are you going to see him?"

"Tomorrow. Or the day afterwards," Draco dismissed evenly, blowing into his cup. Truth be told, he hated to do this, especially after tonight and everything the Weasel King had to go through, but obviously, he hadn't had any choice in the matter. "What will you do meanwhile?"

"Well," Blaise tilted his head to the side, accepting Draco's change of subject after receiving an actual response from him on the pressing issue, and pursed his lips. "Considering the fact that basically I'm not me and legally I am not suppose to be in the country, I guess visiting my friends and family is out of question," he smiled, seeing Draco cracking a smile, both sharing a private joke. "Actually I hoped not to stay here for too long. I... have some... obligations back in France."

"Obligations?" Draco cocked an eyebrow, sipping his tea. "I'm sure this Muggle Company you own can stand for a while without you, Blaise. You are not as irreplaceable as you deem yourself to be."

Blaise rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to chuck his teacup at his old schoolmate. "First of all, I do not own it, I run it. Second of all, I _am_ as irreplaceable as I deem myself, and then some. And third of all? it's not that."

The other eyebrow joined its partner; completing the immaculate Malfoy surprised expression. "Not work? What else could you have there?"

The telltale blush on Blaise's face was a dead giveaway to Draco's own stupidity. _Well, of course! He has been living there for ten years! Any normal bloke would have already found a girlfriend for himself._ At the last thought, Draco scowled inwardly.

"My, my, my," he leered at his glaring friend teasingly. "Have we found ourselves a lady-friend among the Muggle Parisians?"

Blaise narrowed his eyes at Draco and pulled out a wallet from his trouser. Sighing, he plucked out a small picture and tossed it over the table for Draco to peruse.

Draco picked it up and scanned the blonde in the picture with an odd kind of smile. As opposed to Blaise's choice of girls in their Hogwarts years, this one didn't look sickeningly skinny and sallow, her face was not screwed into a sneer or camouflaged with layers of war paint, and she did not seem dead inside. She was healthily curvy and looked positively lovely with yellow locks framing her round face and the green glittering eyes. Her smile was also one of those that dazzle from a distance and she appeared vivacious even on the Muggle still.

"This nightmare you?re looking at is a horrible little French Muggle thing called Brigitte," Blaise pronounced the name in crooked French, with a quiet kind of contented smile on his face. "She dislikes my choice in music, constantly makes fun of my accent and can't cook to save her life. And? I've never loved anyone as much as I love her."

Draco chanced a glance at his friend at the sound of the 'L' word, expecting to see a hasty attempt to cover up the blunt slip up. But there was no such thing and instead Blaise just nodded knowingly and reached out to retrieve the photograph. He looked at the smiling face on that tattered piece of paper and Draco suddenly realized what it was that he?d seen in him before when he was talking about stopping the Dark Lord from rising again.

Blaise wasn't all that worried about the possibility of his own untimely death, perhaps because - as he had confessed to Draco once - he believed he was living on borrowed time that would run out any moment. No, what terrified him was the prospect of Brigitte's future. Because if Dark Lord rose and discover that Blaise was not serving time with the other faithful Death Eaters in the Azkaban, and then discover his whereabouts and Brigitte, that future would be awfully short-lived.

A cloud of doom settled at the bottom of his stomach and once again his mind was flooded with violent red. His chest tightened yet again and he took a deep breath to steady his galloping heart.

Tomorrow he would go to Weasley.

--------------------------------------------

As far Molly was concerned, mornings were always the most arduous time of the day. The house had to be cleaned, the chickens had to be fed, the porch had to be swept, and once that was done, there was always laundry to be done, socks to be fixed, groceries to buy and meals to prepare. And that was after all the children had left the house if there was no need for educating little bundles of restless energy and mischievous minds, no dirty nappies to dispose of or to wash up, and no twins to try and keep out of trouble.

However, that Sunday morning Molly Weasley had woken up with a mutinous disposition, and as she made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen, she crankily decided to indulge herself for the day and bluntly disregard the usual housework. She could just imagine the mountains of dirty dishes waiting for her in the sinks, mucked up floors and littered backyard none of the guests most probably saw necessary to clean up. Well, she'd had a terrible night and she was going on strike this morning and there was nothing anyone could do to persuade her otherwise.

Except perhaps the sight of pristine floors, masses of squeaky-clean dishes piled up in neat stacks on the drying rack, and the absolutely spotless backyard in which not a blade was out of place. Molly stood for a while, staring in disbelief at the immaculate scene presented before her and for a moment wondered vaguely if she had stepped on a stray Portkey by any chance. But a quick scan of the kitchen revealed her favorite pans and wooden spoons and all their mugs. This was indeed her kitchen, and it was - most shockingly - spic and span.

Still blinking away the sleepiness from her eyes, Molly approached the counter with a sort of reverence and her eyes landed on a piece of parchment addressed to her and a note written with George's slack handwriting.

_Mum! _

Sorry about the Dungbombs. Thought you might need a break this morning.

Love,  
Gred and Forge

PS: Wake us not, for we are sleepy.

A tiny sob escaped her smile and Molly noticed that her vision blurred suddenly with a sheer veil of tears. _Silly old hen_, she chided herself, quickly wiping away the tears, and stuffing the note into the pocket of her robes, all the while thinking of various delicacies to whip up for breakfast.

Her preparations were interrupted unexpectedly however, by a subtle knock on the kitchen door that led out into the back yard. Molly frowned lightly, thinking she hadn't seen anyone outside just now, and who would be up this early, besides her, anyway?

She wiped her hands clean on her apron and went over to open the door. At the sight of the person standing there, Molly's mouth fell agape quite impolitely and she gasped.

"Sir Malfoy?"

"Good morning, Molly," Sir Lynus Malfoy smiled from the other side of the door, tipping his head in greeting. "I think perhaps you ought to go wake Arthur up. I'm afraid there are some pressing issues we must discuss."


	16. Snake's Offerings

**Disclaimer:** If JK would like to shift the ownership of Potterverse to me, I shall be the last to object. Until then, alas, it is all her own.

**Author's Notes:** Yes, another chapter! Don't you just love how it works out :) Approximately five more chapters to go until we wrap this suckah up! Woo to the hoo! Leave cookies on your way out… or reviews, whatever suits your fancy

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**16 : Snake's Offerings**

Molly Weasley presumed that when accepting the only Malfoy child into her home the previous night, it would cause some problems with the more boisterous and senseless members of the family. She expected Ron to protest, Percy to sulk and a handful of distant cousins to throw uncalled remarks. She even expected Arthur to remain quiet throughout the evening and cast simmering glares at the boy. Of course, she was pleasantly surprised when the evening passed without serious complications for the most part, and was even further surprised when Draco chose to accompany them into the hospital. Only naturally, Molly ascribed the previous night to simple human etiquette and her notorious affinity for embracing lost children into her home, like she did so many years ago with Harry.

However, the arrival of Sir Lynus Malfoy on the back porch of her humble abode scurried to remind her the true reason for Draco's quick adaptation to the abundantly eccentric family circle. The reason she herself doubted wholeheartedly the past two and a half decades, persuading herself that what was done was done for the best of all those involved. The reason she came to accept over the course of past two weeks with growing trepidation and almost insignificant heartbreak.

Fates were not to be meddled with, because they had a tenacious temper and the ability to force things to play out according to their will.

But it all didn't matter now and weeping over spilled potions wasn't one of Molly's traits, so she had brushed the past off and was prepared to stand by her daughter's decisions, whatever those may be. She fully expected - or perhaps it was hope in her heart - that by turning over the previous page of their mistake, this chapter would be finished. But at the sight of the eldest Malfoy sitting at the small table in her kitchen across from her somber husband, Molly realized that the chapter was nowhere near its ending.

"There you go, Sir Lynus." Molly smiled, placing a teacup in front of the ancient man. He was a spitting image of his son - perhaps it was the opposite - with the long pale hair and the immaculate stoic of a man with generations of dignity and pride standing behind him. But he wasn't as drunk on that pride and heritance as his son was. There was no aura of frigid despise about him that penetrated anyone who dared to look at him, and finally the thing that created the majority of the difference between the two was the man's smile, and merely its existence.

"Thank you." Lynus smiled, tipping his head in appreciation and drawing the cup closer to him. "But please, Mrs. Weasley, no more 'Sir' nonsense. I have to endure it enough."

"Lynus then, but only if you quit with the titles as well," Molly chided, placing a teacup in front of her husband and taking a seat beside him. "Being called 'Mrs.' by an adult makes me that much uncomfortable."

Sir Lynus chuckled, nodding in acceptance. "Molly it is. How are you? How are the children? I heard that store your twins own in the Diagon Alley going quite well, and… hasn't there been another addition to your family? I heard the wife of your youngest was expecting…"

Molly inhaled deeply, releasing in with a laugh. "Oh dear, yes. Actually she just delivered last night… a healthy baby girl, all shining and giddy-- well, you know how it is. And the twins… well, they're as brilliant as ever, those two. Still can't charm a button to a shirt to save their lives, though…"

Sir Lynus joined her laughter, casting a wary glance at the still silent Arthur over the rim of his cup. "Well, boys will be boys… Oh, I read some articles by one of your middle sons… Percival, I think. The boy knows his regulations. I particularly enjoyed his article on 'Inter-Departmental Co-Existence and Misbehavior'… it was extremely well written. I hear he's planning to run for the Minister the next term?" To Molly's nod, he smiled and nodded as well. "Well, the boy can rely on my vote."

"Enough with the pleasantries, perhaps?" Arthur voice cut through the air, crisp and full with edge. "What is it you came here for, Lynus? I thought you retired from the wizarding community somewhere in the depths of rural Yorkshire."

"Arthur," Molly uttered a low warning.

"No, no, Molly," Sir Lynus assured her with a moderated hand gesture. "It is quite alright. Arthur has his own reasons to distrust me… and though those reasons are obsolete and irrelevant, he has every right to maintain them."

"Why are you here, Lynus?" Arthur repeated himself, gripping his own teacup tightly between his hands.

"You know why I'm here, Arthur. And you knew I would come."

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_Losing his last traces of patience, Arthur slammed his fists onto the desk in front of the insufferable man. "Stop playing games, Lucius, and tell me this instant what was the meaning of your letter? Are you trying to threaten me?" _

_Lucius, as composed and pristine as ever, was sitting calmly behind his desk in the vast library of Malfoy Manor, his eyes fixated on the man he deemed unworthy of his attention and yet had invited into his house that very same morning. However, desperate times had the tendency to call for desperate needs, and this was indeed as desperate as they came. So he had sent an owl that morning to await Arthur Weasley at the Ministry with a simple note that stated that in case he was interested in his daughter's benefit, he should Floo himself to the Malfoy Manor around midday. _

"_Arthur, don't be ridiculous. Do you really believe that if I had my mind on threatening you, I'd seal the letter with my own crest?" Lucius quirked a doubtful brow, and turned slightly away from the table. "Unfortunately, I do have a reason for summoning you here, and I can assure you quite frankly it is one I myself am not at all pleased about." _

_Huffing irritably, Arthur retreated into his chair and resumed glaring at the man in front of him. "Speak then. And please cut down the nonsense by half, some of us have to work for a living." _

_Lucius released a short humorless chuckle and eyed his guest with a mild sneer. "Yes, some of you do." _

_Not wanting a raving lunatic on his hands and having a distinct feeling that Arthur, in a barbarian feat, might reduce to Muggle ways of fists and battle cries, Lucius continued quickly. "As you might know, my wife gave birth to an heir last year." _

_Arthur seemed entirely unimpressed by the information. "So what? What does it have to do with my daughter?" _

"_Unfortunately, Weasley," Lucius sneered, opening one of the side drawers in his desk and revealing a white glowing orb the size of the first, which he carefully placed in the middle of the table. "Everything." _

_Arthur stared at the orb for a longest of moments, before glancing up at Lucius with slightly glazed eyes. "That's a Prophecy Orb." _

"_Very perceptive, Arthur," mocked Lucius. "I never thought Weasley would know their Prophecy Orbs from their Bludgers." _

_Arthur scoffed, glancing back at the orb. "What is it doing in your possession? All Prophecy Orbs must be preserved in the Department of Mysteries. This is a direct violation of code five-nine-three--" _

"_I know what code I'm violating, Arthur," Lucius cut him off, pinching his nose bridge in annoyance. _

_Arthur narrowed his eyes and stared at the other man in suspicion. "You know I'm going to report you." _

"_No, you won't," Lucius replied dismissively, locking his eyes with Arthur's. "Not if you hold dear that precious bundle your wife delivered a month ago." _

_Hearing the mention of his daughter once again, Arthur's frustration grew. "What is it about my daughter, Lucius? Come on, spit it out!" _

_Snarling at Arthur's antics, Lucius picked up the Prophecy Orb, staring at it. "This orb contains a prophecy that was brought to my attention about a month ago, contents of which were quite discomforting. It appears to be that the Fates have decided to bind my son, the sole Malfoy heir, to… your daughter, a Weasley," Lucius sneered the last word, placing the orb back onto its stand, and averted his eyes to watch Arthur's reaction. _

_The color in Arthur's face switched from the bright scarlet of surprise to ashen white of horror. His mouth open and closed a couple of times, before he decided to just keep it shut for the time being. His eyes were blinking excessively, staring at Lucius and expecting him to crack the fa?ade at any moment and admit the sick joke. However, the Malfoy remained as composed and unnerved as ever, and simply waited for Arthur to recollect himself. _

"_What-- what do you mean the Fates decided to bind them--?" _

"_If I recall correctly, the exact words were 'The sole heir to the lineage of Bad Faith is to wed the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter that was born firstly in the seventh generation'. Now, believe me when I say, I've searched for every other possibility and had Crucio-ed people after receiving the final interpretation." Lucius grimaced into an attempted smile. "Obviously, you didn't just hear that as I didn't just say that. But… isn't your wife a seventh child herself? And were there really no boys in your family for six generations?" _

_Arthur continued to stare, dumfounded, as a pitch-black cloud settled atop his heart and grief began to slither its way in. His girl, his only baby girl, was prophesized to be bound to the vilest of all wizarding lines, and… there was nothing he could do about it. So early in her life and she already was destined for misery and unhappiness in the clutches of this man's son, who without a shadow of a doubt, would grow into a horrible reflection of his father. How could Arthur fail to protect her so? _

"_Obviously this is unacceptable," Lucius spoke up suddenly, interrupting Arthur's thoughts. "I will not allow the Malfoys to be interlinked with the likes of you." _

_Arthur snapped out of the dismal reverie, snarling. "Do not mistake for a split of a second that I find the concept of my daughter marrying your son anything less than painfully disgusting," he sneered, trying to keep the bile from rising in his throat. This was unthinkable! How could the Fates be so cruel? "I would've given my wand-arm if it could've saved her from the misfortune of being related to you!" _

"_Wonderful, Arthur!" Lucius exclaimed suddenly, appearing quite pleased with his reaction. "I hoped you would see it this way, because I'm afraid the ritual won't work without your help." _

_Arthur, taught to expect the worse from Lucius by years of experiment, glared at the blond with suspicion. "What are you talking about? What ritual?" _

_Lucius blinked. "The ritual to break the matrimonial prophecy, of course. You didn't actually think I would've let my son marry a Weasley, did you? And I'm afraid these rituals require the consent of both sides, so… well, it's quite fortunate you're willing--" _

"_Rituals to break prophecies, matrimonial or not, are not only Dark, but also_ illegal_," Arthur stressed to emphasize the word, staring at his conversant with blunt disbelief and disgust. _

"_Thank you for informing me, Arthur, but I was quite aware of it," Lucius drawled, his voice becoming agitatedly edgy. "Am I supposed to be disconcerted by the fact?" _

"_You know me better than this, Lucius. Don't tell me you actually expect me to perform a Dark illegal ritual," Arthur glared at Lucius guardedly. Because to be quite honest, it was already decided that he would. _

"_Oh, Arthur… don't tell me you will allow such a small matter as legality - or lack thereof - to stand between your little girl and her happiness," Lucius smirked, steepling his fingers delicately and staring at Arthur with boring intensity. "Because you see, dear Arthur? I do know you better…" _

_  
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_

_Arthur had never noticed before just how dark and sinister the woods may appear if your conscience isn't clear and your mind is full of pointless reasoning of good intentions for something you knew very well stood against everything you believed in. But if it was the price he had to pay for freeing his little baby girl from life of misery and unhappiness, then it was exactly what he was going to do. Even if he would never be able to look at himself in the mirror without cringing in shame, at least he will be able to look at his little Ginevra and know that her future was her own and that he had done all in his power to make sure of that. _

_Molly begged him to not go through with this. She resounded again and again the same lines they all memorized in school - prophecies were not to be meddled with, they do not like to be broken, and the price shall be much higher than he will be willing to pay. But he had to push those lines aside and follow Lucius into the woods. He had to do everything he could to secure a better future for his child. _

_Lynus Malfoy appeared at the other side of the clearing, bellowing in rage at his son and threatening to report the whole ordeal to the Ministry, but Lucius simply Stupefied his own father, banishing him back home as Arthur presumed, and proceeded to prepare the grounds. _

_These were holy grounds. Arthur could feel the magic seep through the soles of his shoes and creeping sluggishly up his body, shooting sparks and tendrils throughout his limbs. The grounds sensed the Dark artifacts and the Dark energy surrounding the sacrificial stone in the middle of the clearing, and they tugged at the outskirts of Arthur's heart, pleading him to discontinue this lewd practice at once. But he couldn't, he honestly couldn't. He wept inside and tried to explain to them that he had to, that it was for the benefit of his child, he had no choice, and any good parent would do the same. But they didn't heed his excuses and simply retreated back into the soil, dismissing him and "one of them", those who are too cruel to listen to their pleas. He wanted to call them back, swear that he wasn't as them, that he listened and cared, he just couldn't do anything about it. _

_But Lucius called for him, finishing the last of the calligraphy circling the stone. He explained once again how the ritual would be performed and made sure Arthur remembered the needed incantation and the right pronunciation, and finally started chanting. _

_It was the first and the last time Arthur was present at a Dark ritual, and quite reluctantly participated in it. At first, when the air was filled with constant chanting of two baritone voices in archaic languages not a single living culture still spoke in, Arthur couldn't feel anything different from the usual ceremonial rituals the ancient wizards participated. The night was chilling rapidly and the wind was picking up. All the living creatures in close perimeters scurried as far away as possible, and the air was practically crackling with pure magical energy. _

_However, when the blood - Arthur had wept when pricking one of those tiny fingers - was dripped onto the Prophecy Orb in the center of the ritual stone the similarities ended. Instantly, Arthur was brought to his knees by the shrill howling of the lost spirits, summoned by the previous chanting and now made palpable by the innocent blood. He clutched his head in agony, continuing to roar the incantations through gritted teeth, noticing nothing but Lucius' steady voice among the unbearable screeches. _

_The bastard did it so often that the shrill sounds of hollow souls no longer affected him with the same ferocity. He had sacrificed his soul to the devil long ago and this was but a mere trick to him. Arthur wasn't sure whether to hate Lucius with renewed force, or to pity him with the new perception. _

_The howling only continued to rise, until Arthur was sure his ears would burst and bleed a crimson red that would invigorate the spirits even further. He managed to open his eyes for a split of a second and witness one of the spirits hurl itself into Lucius with such fierceness that the man lost his balance and stumbled to the ground. _

_Forsaking pain, chanting and the imprinted prejudice, Arthur dashed to the side of the prone man and heeded to his heart. Still beating steadily, though the sound was meager. Arthur checked his pulse, making sure that it was steady as well, and whirled around, ready to battle the spirits if the necessity arises. He was surprised to discover a silent and calm clearing before him. The only evidence of what had happened was the unconscious man by his feet and the light swaying of the treetops. _

_Crouching back down, Arthur took great and almost indecent pleasure in slapping Lucius back into consciousness. Once Malfoy was awake and groaning loudly, Arthur allowed himself to slump down onto the soil as well, panting heavily and trying to steady his heart. _

"_What happened with that spirit? You said nothing about one of them trying to kill you," Arthur groaned, rubbing his chest soothingly. _

"_It wasn't trying killing me," Lucius spat in return, the venom in his voice drowned by the wheezing breaths. "It was taking a piece of my soul." _

_Arthur blinked and turned to stare at his enemy as if he had lost the last traces of sanity when hitting the ground. _

"_Yes, yes, don't look so dumbfounded, Weasley," Lucius bristled, attempting to pull himself to his feet and crumbling back down again. "It is called 'Dark' magic for a reason. One of the reasons is soul trading with higher spirits…' _

"_That's insane," Arthur breathed, postponing his own efforts of regaining his stance for a while. "Not to mention extremely stupid. What would you do when there's no more soul to trade?" _

"_Hopefully, I won't be forced to perform these rituals then," Lucius replied, staring around himself in search of something. He paused suddenly and turned back to stare at Arthur. "Please don't tell me you've stopped the chanting and rushed to my help." _

_Arthur stared at him back, trying to ignore the bright splotches of red that spurred down his ears. Thankfully, his face was covered with a red sheen of overexertion, so that particular telltale blush was lost on Lucius. However, the darting eyes and the sheepish scratch at the back of his head were a dead giveaway. _

"_Oh, you bleeding_ Gryffindor_! You perform a Dark ritual, chanting god knows what in a language you don't understand, as far as you know you might get yourself killed if you do not finish the sentence, and you piss on it all and rush to aid your most loathsome enemy? Merlin, you are unbelievable!" Lucius roared, glaring at Arthur with pure scorn in his eyes, and sprung to his feet immediately with great ease, hurrying to the stone. Inspecting it for a while, he drew a deep breath and turned around to glare at the redhead some more. "All blood is gone and the Orb is empty, which are good signs. Lets just hope your little attempt to be stupidly valiant and noble while performing a Dark ritual won't cost us too dearly." _

"_I should've let you rot," Arthur grumbled under his breath, climbing slowly to his feet. "And you should've told me what was going to happen," he added, this time shouting at the sneering Malfoy. "What would've happened if I had seen the spirit launch at you earlier and stopped it?" _

_Lucius met him with an even stare, one of the brow slightly arched. "I would've died and it would've come after you." _

"_Oh," Arthur breathed, quirking both eyebrows in comprehension. "Good thing I was in such pain then," he mumbled absently. _

"_Indeed," Lucius snarled and turned to gather the used dark relics and charm the scribbling away. _

_Arthur scoffed at the blonde behind his back and toyed for a moment with the idea of flipping a rude gesture at him, but discarded it almost immediately, shaking his head. He hoped the ritual was successful and that his daughter was free from the Fates' perceptions, because the thought that it was all for nothing was quite dismally unbearable. He watched Lucius as he picked up the empty glass orb, and breathed deeply for the first time since hearing about the nightmarish prophecy. The ritual was successful and the prophecy was broken, and that was all that mattered to him. It was time to return home to his wife and children. _

_Lucius fastened his flying robes and proceeded to the opposite side of the clearing Arthur was heading to. Just before disappearing into the darkness provided by the trees, he turned around to see Arthur follow suit, and their stares locked for an instant. _

"_Don't even try to guide the Aurors back here," Lucius drawled casually. "You will never find it again and you might experience severe headaches." _

"_Stay away from my family or I will not let such a small thing as illegality to stand between you and the Grim," countered Arthur evenly. _

_The men shared an odd sense of understanding as both nodded and vanished from the clearing and the surrounding woods. _

_The next morning, Arthur read about the death of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the hands of a one-year-old boy by the simple name of Harry Potter, and his doubled joy would never even heed to the frittering slightly alarmed thought that perhaps coincidences shouldn't be trusted blindly in their situation. _

------------------------------------------------

Swallowing against the lump in his throat at the memory of that night, Arthur clenched his fists. "Have you come here to reprimand me for my choices?" he snapped, glaring at the older man who was a spitting and unfortunate image of his past enemy. "Well, you have no right to do that, so get out of my house."

"I am not here to indulge you in your lamenting," countered Sir Lynus, his voice almost rising. "I am here to offer you my help."

Molly hurried to grab one of Arthur's hands and give it a reassuring squeeze, seeing her husband struggle with his temper. She watched him carefully as he drew a breath to steady himself and used the opportunity to speak up.

"Lynus, thank you for wanting to help, really, but… the mistake was made and we cannot take back what happened. We've accepted it and we are willing to stand by our daughter through the aftermath. And I understand we probably did more bad than good with the--"

"Unfortunately, Molly, I'm afraid you don't understand what exactly Arthur and my son caused," Sir Lynus interrupted her with a rueful expression on his face. "What your attempt to outsmart fate had set in motion…"

"What do you mean?" Molly asked, her brows creasing to create a deep frown derived of years and seven nimble children.

"I mean," Sir Lynus shook his head tiredly while staring at Arthur. He fell silent when the other man finally raised his brown eyes to meet the pale blue. "Something went horribly wrong that night, which set off an entire string of events, sending history off course."

"Your son inherited your ability to beat about the bush for continuous stretches of time, did you know that?" Arthur said irritably, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

Sir Lynus pressed his lips into a fine line, obviously not finding the rib amusing. "I have it from a good source that the Dark Lord is on the rise. Again."

There was a moment of deafening silence as the words hung aimlessly in the air, and no one made a move to grasp them. Their first simultaneous thought was that the joke was in no way funny and, in fact, quite ridiculous. The second was the musing whether a sense of humor was something that traveled in Malfoy genes. The third was the comprehension.

All color vanished from Molly's face as she stared at her husband, trying to grasp and yet obliterate the words from her consciousness. Her heart leaped fearfully, beginning to race painfully fast against her ribcage. Her mouth became dry and the room started spinning around her. The Dark Lord was back? _He_ was back?

Arthur was the first to attempt speech. "But-- how-- wait, it-- No!"

Sir Lynus, looking as somber and grave as ever, closed his shut and drew a deep breath. "The Mark has been reappearing on Death Eaters' arms, infected with some sort of a poison…"

"Draco - your grandson - he was here last night and he was perfectly fine," Molly hurried to disprove the information.

"Yes, I know. But Draco has the Wizengamot's special permission to continue practice magic, while the majority of Death Easter cooperators live among Muggles as Muggles. He has been using Glamour and Cleansing Charms ever since the war ended, so it is only naturally he will not be aware of it. However the others…"

"But how could that be? Harry killed him in the Chamber of Secrets!" Arthur insisted, replaying the painful images in his memory. "_I was there_. I've seen You-Know-Who's body. I've spit on it!"

"He has found another way to elude death," Sir Lynus commented simply, waving his hands noncommittally. "Is it really that surprising?'

"Hold on, Lynus," Molly spoke out, drawing his attention. "How is it connected to the broken prophecy?"

"As far as I'm aware of, it isn't," Sir Lynus replied.

"Then…" Both Molly and Arthur were becoming extremely confused.

"The ritual itself," Sir Lynus hurried to explain. "Its date wasn't chosen by chance. Lucius chose that night in order to convey the enormity of your ritual by the high extortion of magical energy elsewhere. That night was also the night Voldemort attacked the Potters."

The couple fell silent, exchanging grave looks. Molly took a hold of Arthur's hand and squeezed it in reassurance, shielding her eyes with the other hand.

"How could the ritual have any affect on things? We were on the other side of the country," Arthur mused, his mind still unable to fully grasp the pattern.

"Dark magic is an unknown territory," Sir Lynus explained, shaking his head ruefully. "You can never be completely sure what or who you're beseeching with the incantations, because you simply don't understand the language. And while you call upon one spirit for a particular task, you can't be sure whether, unbeknownst to you, you haven't called another spirit for a completely different task weaved into the chants by the ancient Dark wizards."

"Are you saying I somehow summoned a spirit and asked it to grant You-Know-Who immortality?" Arthur's eyes widened in horror as the possibility flashed through his mind.

"No, of course not," Sir Lynus assured him, shaking his head with a frown. "If immortality was so easy to attain, the Dark Lord wouldn't have gone through all the trouble of Horcruxes, the unicorn blood, the Philosopher's Stone…" He waved his hand, indicating that the list of Voldemort's failed attempts went on and on. "However, the exhaustion of magical energy in the air that night caused a certain overload, which shifted stability and balance with the most basic threads of magic. The ritual probably played to his advantage."

Arthur covered his mouth with his free hand and stared outside of the window, his eyes glazing over with tears he tried to suppress. He knew everything had fallen apart the moment he'd seen his little girl in the living room those weeks ago, but he never even guessed how terrible the situation was. And how his desire to protect her from what he deemed evil, consigned the entire wizarding community once again in great danger.

"Oh Merlin, what have I done?"

"Don't think about what you've done, Arthur," Sir Lynus said sternly, his posture suddenly becoming straighter, purpose flashing through his eyes. "Think what you could do to fix the situation. Because it is still not too late."

Arthur glanced up and locked his stare with the elder man. His features shifted subtly, but the change was great - instead of regret and faults, his face shone with newfound determination and zeal. He nodded, sensing Molly squeeze his hand encouragingly, and squeezed back just as tight. Everything was going to be all right. He'd make sure of it, and this time for good.

"You know what can be done?"

"I have a clue…"

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Walking through the long corridors of St. Mungo's hospital, gave Ginny enough time to recompose herself after the mad dash she'd made through the streets of London. After running some errands for her Mum in the Muggle London, she headed in the direction of the Muggle hospital entrance to pay a visit to her sister-in-law and the wonderful niece. However a few blocks away from it, the skies combusted in a brutal downpour and Ginny was forced to run all the way to the department store with only an old newspaper as her cover since she couldn't risk using her wand among the rushing Muggles.

So by the time she reached the hospitals waiting area, she was soaked like a pitiful rat. A swift wave of her wand solved the problem instantly, but Ginny still disliked the remaining feeling of discomfort caused by dampen moods as much as soaked clothes.

Her mind was still slightly unsettled by the odd conversation she had with her aunt that morning, and for some reason she'd been unusually jumpy throughout the day. Scolding herself about the unacceptable edginess to her behavior, she rolled her shoulders to relieve the cricks and pushed the door to Hermione's room.

She took a step in, smiling widely at the sight of her best friend holding a wrap of pink blankets to her chest. Pausing to gently push the door into its lock, Ginny tiptoed her way to the bed, nodding at Hermione's beaming gesture to keep it quiet. She stifled an excited giggle, taking a hold of a visitors' chair and placing it closer to the bed.

"Miss Ginny," Hermione whispered, grinning at the red-haired woman. "Let me introduce to you Olivia Perdita Weasley," she squealed out quietly, shifting the blankets to allow Ginny a better look at the little girl in her arms.

Taking the cue and leaning slightly forward, Ginny's eyes scanned the wraps in search of pink skin and were greeted by the sight of the most beautiful sleeping baby she had ever seen. A tiny squeal escaped her lips, and she hurried to close her mouth apologetically, but the creature was just too adorable to keep a straight face. So, throwing resolution to the wind, her features melted into the most blissful smile she'd worn in a while.

"Two gigantic brown eyes, ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes," Hermione cooed softly into the blanket, agreeing wholeheartedly with Ginny's reaction. "Everything in place and it is an actual little human being and it _came out of me_," the last words were whispered in reverent disbelief as Hermione turned to stare at Ginny with almost dumbfounded look in her eyes.

Ginny found the sight of Hermione Weasley-Granger being completely awestruck and utterly surprised the most amusing thing. She released a giggle, joined by her friend and moved onto her feet, embracing Hermione lightly and cradling her on her chest. The soft giggles soon melted into tiny sobs, which also didn't last long, merely leaving trails of moisture down Hermione's cheeks and a clogged up nose.

The brunette laughed loudly when Ginny commented about the wretched state of her eyes, and wiped her face with an offered napkin.

"Ooh, I got her this," Ginny gashed excitedly, pulling a green stuffed animal out of one of her bags.

Hermione eyed the toy, mixture of amusement and incredulity in her eyes. "A dragon?"

"Yeah," Ginny nodded enthusiastically. "I just saw it in a Muggle toy store and had to buy it. Why? Is there something wrong with dragons?"

Hermione laughed at the barely detectable traces of indignation in Ginny's voice and hurried to appease her friend. "No, no, there's nothing wrong with dragons. I'm sure she'll love it."

"Of course she will!" Ginny exclaimed. "Her Aunt Ginny gave it to her, why wouldn't she love it?" She laughed when Hermione shook her head slightly and leaned back in her chair. "So how have you been?" Ginny asked, smiling and reaching out to take a hold of Hermione's free hand.

"I've been… floating," Hermione confessed, nodding sagely. "This whole… _everything_ made me question my sense of sanity. My perceptions are entirely messed up and I can't think of a single charm right now. My mind is just this great collection of mush. Mushy feelings, mushy words, mushy images, mushy desires, and… I don't think I've ever been happier."

Ginny grinned in turn, feeling the familiar sense of giddiness rise up in her chest. She was so happy for Hermione that her mind allowed her to forget about her earlier unease and the general trepidation. Her best friend just gave birth to this little creature! Who was also her brother's! And related to her!

Ginny couldn't fight another tiny squeal and glimpse into the blankets, her facial expression shifting again to express her extreme joy.

"Yeah, I know," Hermione chortled. "I've been doing the same thing the entire day and it still doesn't seem to get old." She chanced a glance down and sighed delightfully once more. "Aww, look at her!"

"I am," Ginny chirped in excitedly. Then, drawing her eyes to the grinning mother, settled back into her chair with a smile of her own. "You're going to be a wonderful mother, Hermione."

Hermione glanced at Ginny with slightly surprised eyes, but her expression softened at the sight of her smile. "Thank you. I'm going to do my best… God knows I've already read every parenting book on the market."

Ginny laughed, quite sure that Hermione indeed would do such a thing, and oddly comforted by the thought. Remembering an earlier conversation with Fred, Ginny glanced at the blankets again, trying to catch the sight of Olivia's head. "Hey, the twins wanted to know--"

"Yes, the girl is a Weasley through and through with this fuzz of red hair," Hermione assured Ginny with a giggle, rubbing gently the exposed top of her head. "And has a pair of lungs to go with it. She kept me up all night this one, until I finally figured out that she wanted to eat. I should've known though, Ron makes the exactly same inane wailing noise when he's hungry."

Ginny laughed out loud, trying to stifle it with her hand out of fear of waking the child. "Where is Ron? He took off early today, telling Mum he was coming to see you."

"Oh, yeah, he was here." Hermione nodded, releasing a giggle. "Stumbled on that chair three times on his way over to the bed. Then just sat here and stared at her, mouth open and eyes wide in disbelief." Hermione's eyes glazed over dreamily as a soft smile crowned her lips. "God, I love him," she breathed out, then dropping her gaze to Olivia, added tenderly, "I love you both."

Ginny watched the exchange silently and her lips curled into a smile. A lonely thought flashed through her mind, reminding her that she was only a year younger than Hermione and despite the general gist of Aunt Eloise's words, she really should've been in the age to consider children. How sad that at the moment the idea seemed ludicrously impossible. Shaking the dampening thought out of her head, Ginny glanced at the door and back to Hermione again.

"So where's my dear brother? Went to get you something?"

"Oh," Hermione blinked her ecstatic haze away and glanced up to look at Ginny. "Oh, _oh!_ No, he left about an hour ago… with Malfoy."

Ginny almost didn't notice the painful jolt her heart gave at the mention of that name. "Malfoy? I didn't know Draco and Ron bonded so well last night," Ginny noted, arching a brow, which bluntly stated that she was beyond doubtful such predicament occurred.

"Heh, no, I don't think they did," Hermione assured her, sharing Ginny's doubts entirely. "When Malfoy just arrived, he was pretty irked. But Malfoy ignored him and instead congratulated me on the birth, saying that he liked the name when I introduced him to Olivia Perdita."

"He did?" Ginny blurted without thinking, her expression brusquely disbelieving.

"Yes," Hermione stated dryly and rolled her eyes. "Then said he hoped she had my temper, cause with a name like that and Ron's twitchy wand-arm she would be a shamefully easy target for the Slytherins."

Ginny snorted out a laugh, immediately stifling it at the sight of Hermione's piercing eyes imbedded into her. "I'm sorry, Mione. I wanted to say something myself… but, you _are_ going to use a nickname, aren't you?" Ginny hoped she wasn't stepping out of boundaries.

Hermione just sniffed indignantly and shrugged in defeat. "Yes, I suppose you're right. God knows life as Hermione wasn't the easiest in kindergarten," she confessed, shaking her head sadly. "Kids can be so cruel."

Ginny smiled and petted her friend's hand again, before refocusing on the previously discussed subject. "So what happened then with Draco?"

Hermione's eyebrows arched slightly with curiosity. "You do notice you refer to him by his first name, right?"

Ginny paused, taken aback by the question, and took a moment to consider it. "Yes. Yes, I'm quite aware of that, now do go on."

Fixing Ginny with a dubious stare, Hermione accepted the reply and continued. "Well, he asked to talk to Ron in private, who by the way was still sputtering over the name thing and reaching for his wand." She rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Anyway, they got out, talked for a few minutes and then Ron comes barreling in. He was too pale for my comfort, but he refused to stay and explain, just kissed us, grabbed his cloak and barreled right back out, saying he has some work stuff to tend to."

"What does Draco have to do with Ron's work?"

"That's what I asked before the door was slammed behind him," Hermione replied, drawing a deep breath. "But he was in too much of a hurry to answer."

"That's weird," Ginny commented blandly.

"Yeah, I'll be sure to ask him when he gets back," Hermione drawled, absently peering at her girl. "Meanwhile, look at this girl! Look at her!"

Ginny laughed again and happily complied, lapsing into hour-long conversation with Hermione about the cuteness and loveliness of her newborn. Unfortunately, time flew by quickly and before Ginny really ran out of anything additional to say to praise the baby girl, she realized it was unmistakably dark outside and she had to be going. By that time, Olivia Perdita had already woken up and Ginny had the immense pleasure of kissing her goodbye before leaving.

Ginny was still grinning when she stepped through the front door of the Burrow into the foyer, to find her Aunt Eloise and Uncle Henry bidding farewell to her parents. The women were just pulling out of an embrace while the men shook hands, giving promises to meet up together again sometime soon, and so on and so forth. The moment the sound of the closing door reached their ears all eyes were diverted to the entering redhead.

"Ginny, dear," Aunt Eloise exclaimed, beckoning Ginny to approach. "Come hug your favorite aunt goodbye!"

All the venom and strenuousness Ginny witnessed that morning had vanished from her aunt's exterior, and so she had no choice but to obey and accept the vice grip of a hug. Thankfully, Uncle Henry was there to rescue her from suffocation as always, even though she felt more resistance on her aunts part this time.

"Well, I guess it is time to leave then," Aunt Eloise tittered through subtly teary eyes. "Oh, wait," she quickly kneeled and dug into her dragon-hide purse and retrieved a small parcel the size of a jewelry box wrapped in a cream-colored paper. "Here, Ginny dear. I think you ought to have it."

"Oh, thank you, Aunt Eloise. You really shouldn't have," Ginny smiled at her aunt, taking the proffered parcel and making a move to open it.

"Oh, no, no! Don't open it now, you'll spoil the surprise, dear," Aunt Eloise beamed, removing Ginny's fingers from the tying ribbon. "Open it later."

Ginny smiled at her aunt's antics and nodded, joining her parents in hearty farewells when the couple finally took leave.

Once the door closed shut, Molly wiped away the bright smile and leaned into Arthur's embrace for support, sighing. "Thank Merlin, that's the last of them. Dear, if I ever come up with the brilliant idea of inviting four generations of Prewetts and Weasleys into our home, you have my full permission to jinx me before I finish the sentence. Okay?"

Arthur chuckled, embracing his wife tighter and placing a soft comforting kiss on top of her head. "I'll prefer to kiss you silly until you forget all about the idea…"

Battling between the adorable display and the fluttering feeling of wrongness it raised, Ginny grinned at her parents and after handing Molly her bags, hurried upstairs. Back in her bedroom - which was suddenly devoid of any cousins and therefore a lot bigger - she tossed Aunt Eloise's parcel onto her desk and moved to change her clothes. Once total comfort was achieved with the old jumper, warm knitted socks and a pair of warm wool pants, Ginny headed back downstairs with a book, wishing to spend a quiet evening with her parents in front of the fire in the Burrow's living room.

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**Author's Notes:** Come on, people, review :( I feel so unloved... :weeps:


	17. SnakeCooties and Frostbitten Noses

**Disclaimer:** No, Harry Potter isn't mine. Neither is Ginny Weasley. Negotiation regarding the ownership of a certain blond Slytherin are in the process, but meantime the results aren't favorable… :broods:

**Author's Notes:** Hey people! Did you miss me? I guess some of you - the more fanatical ones - did. I apologize for the brutal lack of updating, but as some of you might know I've started my army service the other month and now not only do I not have the time for posting, I don't even have time for writing. It is all very sad actually…

Enjoy what you get and know that it is not in my intention to leave this story at its very end. Besides this one, two other chapters has been written previously and are being betaed as you read, so I hope I would be able to post them soon. Meanwhile, I am trying to write the last two chapters of this monstrosity and failing miserably, for I am too tired to allow a single creative line into my mind. Emotional exhaustion blows chunks.

Thank you all those who stick with this story and continue reading it. You make my weekends (it is the only time I get online and receive the reviews)! Keep doing that and my life will be that much more lovelier :grin:

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**17 : Snake-Cooties and Frostbitten Noses**

Ginny entered the colossal lobby of _Malfoy Incorporated_ early Monday morning, charming the persistent raindrops out of her clothing and hair. Once the clothes dried out completely and her hair resettled with an unfortunate frizz to it, she allowed her eyes to wander and take in the lavish d?cor. The high ceilings with their graceful arches towered above her; the walls bore the paintings of ancient men - Malfoy men - who watched the scurrying people about them in amusement or discontent or simple disinterest. The floors wove a particularly meticulous pattern, showing the Malfoy crest with emerald and white mosaic in the center of the hall. The place was indeed awesome, but what else could she expect from a Malfoy.

She smiled at the thought and headed to the elevators, mentally steeling herself for another encounter with the Malfoy heir. She didn't know why exactly she felt the need to steel herself, or why her hands were sweating slightly, while her stomach churned unpleasantly as if there were doxies fluttering inside of her. Neither could she explain why exactly she'd spent the morning choosing the right outfit, applying light but becoming touches of make-up, and frankly dreading the meeting. It wasn't as if anything important was going to be discussed today. It was just agreed Saturday in the Tea Room that Ginny would drop by Draco's office before starting working on the article, to discuss the way she was going to go about it or something of the sort, Ginny didn't know exactly.

By the time she reached the top floor of the enormous building - the only structure in Diagon Alley that bypassed the four-story maximum - Ginny considered turning back and forsaking the idea all together. However, the thought was too ridiculous and too unjustified to consider, so she just rolled her shoulders nervously and stepped into the waiting area of Draco's office. The same emerald motif reigned the design there as well, but it was calmer here in some odd sense, as if it didn't need the same extravagant lavishness to impress the visitors. The air was enough.

Trying to steady her thumping heart, Ginny headed towards the secretary at the door. She cleared her throat loudly to draw attention to herself and smiled at the young witch once the attention was granted.

"Good morning," the secretary smiled stoically, steepling her fingers atop of the stock of papers on her desk. "How may I help you?"

"Good morning," Ginny returned with the same stoic greeting. "Miss Weasley, _Daily Prophet_ reporter. I believe Mr. Malfoy is expecting me."

"Oh yes, of course," the younger witch smiled brightly and pushed herself away from the table, standing up, and walking over to the enormous double doors.

Ginny followed her compliantly and once the doors were open stepped inside. She scanned the office for the familiar white-blond head and noticed Draco behind the black lacquered desk just as he raised his head to glare down the intrusion. She smiled brightly when the glare melted away and was replaced by some oddly expressed greeting. He would accept her presence. He would even allow a shadow of a smile for her.

Once the doors were closed behind her, Draco gestured at one of the empty visitors' chair, offering her a seat. "Good morning. I take it you didn't have too much trouble finding the building."

"No, not at all," Ginny assured him, taking a seat in front of the desk. "I just followed the great black shadow looming over the Alley."

Draco shot her a look, not quite bordering on a glare, but not so casual either.

The issue of the altitude of the _Malfoy Incorporated_ building had been on the table for quite some time now. On one hand, there weren't any laws or regulations that forbade private entrepreneurs from building structures higher than the majority of buildings in the Alley, and the construction of said building was approved legally and supervised by the Ministry officials. On the other hand, after the erection of _Malfoy Incorporated_'s new headquarters, letters of complaints and censure flooded the Public Complaints Committee of the Ministry, claiming that the building - or more specifically, the shadow it created from ten in the morning until four in the afternoon - was disrupting the everyday way of life of the Alley dwellers.

The _Daily Prophet_ had been informed that Ministry officials had approached Draco regarding the issue and advised him to charm the stories underground, like the Ministry itself was built. However, Draco claimed that such an action would involve superfluous amounts of money and if the Ministry was interested in donating it he would happily oblige, if not than he was forced to reject the advice. On this note though the issue didn't settle and the London wizarding community was divided between two major opinions - some attacked Draco for refusing to comply with the request, while the majority attacked the Ministry for not examining the issue more thoroughly before it arose in the first place.

It was understandable why it was a bit of a touchy issue for Draco, especially in the presence of a newspaper reporter, as he must've suddenly remembered she was.

"And let that be my first question for the day," she added, pulling out a black leather-bound notebook and a quill. "What does _Malfoy Incorporated_ plan to do about the continuous letters of complaints?"

"Let it not, " Draco countered slightly irritably. "I did not invite you here so you could prod the same boring issues."

"I was under a different impression from my editor." Ginny beamed cheekily, flipping the notebook shut again.

He shot her yet another bordering look, but was appeased when the notebook was closed. "How is your niece? Olivia Perdita, is it?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes at Draco's intentionally obvious attempt to stifle the amusement in his voice. "Very well, thanks. And you didn't have to make fun of the name in front of Hermione, you know."

"Old habits die hard," Draco commented, not feeling the need to apologize or excuse his rude behavior.

"At this rate they will never die."

"Quite frankly, I find it difficult to be all that bothered by the possibility," he stated, keeping the noncommittal air about him.

Ginny couldn't stop the small smile that crept onto her lips, curling tentatively and glowing bashfully on her face.

For a minute it seemed Draco had lost his train of thought and was on a verge of stutter, but he quickly recomposed himself, clearing his throat distractedly. "So, what are you planning for the article? Should I expect the usual mud lashing?"

Ginny laughed, feeling not actual resentment behind the words, but mere jesting. "Of course not. I plan on writing only the truth," she berated semi-seriously. "And if the article _is_ going to be biased, let me assure you it will be in your favor."

"Oh? You will compromise your journalistic integrity for the sake of a Malfoy?"

"First of all, there will be no compromise whatsoever," Ginny clarified, fixing her brown stare on the boring gray eyes. "And second of all… some things worth doing for the sake of a friend."

Draco cocked an eyebrow as his lips quirked into an amused smirk. "So you've decided that I'm a friend?"

"Yes, I have and there's nothing you can do to dishearten my decision, so hush." She furrowed her brows at him warningly, before slipping into a more mild composure. "Now… about the building, Mr. Malfoy?"

The amusement remained in his eyes while the smirk frittered away and Draco resettled into his usual work mode. "An agreement has been reached with the Ministry - they provide the Spell-casters and I take care of all the necessary research. You can inform your readers to expect a standard four-story building by the end of this year."

Ginny grinned into her notebook, scribbling the information down. "Excellent. So what were you talking about yesterday, at the hospital with my brother yesterday?"

The question didn't catch him off guard as was hoped, but it did cause an edgy look to be fixated at her.

"Nothing that would be necessary for the article," Draco guaranteed calmly.

"Then I don't ask as a reporter," Ginny countered, staring at him evenly. She was simply curious, why did his shoulders tense and a sudden vague air erect about him?

Draco's composure suddenly slacked and the air around him shifted. "Nothing interesting, really. I just found out that he's acquainted with the manager of the Chudley Cannons and needed him to introduce us."

Ginny couldn't help the skeptic brow that quirked upwards. "He left his wife and newborn in favor of a Quidditch team manager?"

For a moment Draco seemed to understand the impracticality of his story, but seemed to have no choice but to go on with it. "Not just a Quidditch team, Ginny. The Cannons. Even I know how fanatical Weasley is about them."

Ginny should've continued the interrogation further. She should've slipped into her reporter mode and continue pressing questions that would've made him fidgety and uncomfortable and forced him tell the truth eventually. She shouldn't have let the obvious lie be dangled so bluntly in front of her face and should've taught Draco, for future reference, not to attempt such mindless antics as lying to her ever again.

But she didn't. Because her brain was quite effectively tuned out by the sound of her name uttered in his cold drawl. It sounded odd and incongruous, and for a moment Ginny wanted to tell him that she decided against the first name basis and he can go back to calling her 'Weasley'. But something deeper inside of her told her there was no way back now. She was Ginny and he was Draco and-- _why did her heart just skipped a beat?_

Draco seemed to notice something in her demeanor, because he suddenly coughed into his fist, shaking his head, and averted his eyes from her onto the windows. "So, umm… how are you?"

The question should've sounded random and out of place, and if it was anyone else asking it in the middle of a conversation, Ginny would've glanced at them perplexedly. However, when asked by Draco after a stretch of loaded silence, the question attained a different meaning.

"I'm… okay," she replied, forcing herself out of her dazed stupor. "Good, even. I just have to start doing things… like getting an apartment and a new Gringott's vault. Which reminds me, do I have to have an appointment with the manager or can I just open a new vault with one of the clerks?"

"One of the clerks could help you with the creating of a private vault," Draco stated, the stoic air reassembling around him. "Business vaults require the interference of the manager."

"And an apartment…? Where would I be looking for one of those?" Ginny asked absently, her eyes shiftily looking away.

"Didn't I tell you that I am not about to provide you with all the answers?" Draco mused out loud, as the sides of his mouth quirked up.

"I'm not asking for _all_ the answers," Ginny protested feebly. "Just… a singular educated guess… perhaps?"

Draco laughed, which sent a jolt of satisfaction through the redhead sitting across him.

"I'm afraid my educated guesses about accommodations concludes on inheriting my parents' house," Draco replied, pulling himself back under control. "I don't think it would work in your case, though."

Ginny sighed in defeat. "Yes, I guess you're right. I'll ask someone else then."

Draco laughed once more at the lighthearted tone of her last statement and shook his head. Then, as if remembering something, he spoke again, his voice laced with something new. "Are you planning to go to the Ministry?"

"What for?" Ginny blinked. "You think they would want to tell where I could get an apartment?"

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, before opening them and looking at her again. "No," he replied. His eyes slipped to her hand that was holding the closed notebook, settling on the silver band around her finger. "Are you planning to file an appeal for the separation?"

Ginny's eyes followed Draco's, slipping onto the wedding band as well. A pale scarlet blush touched her ears, creeping down towards her cheeks, when she grasped that the ring was still on her left ring finger and hadn't been removed yet. Her right hand instantly moved to remove it, but instead began turning it this way and that, absently rubbing the skin beneath it.

"I-- umm-- well-- I-- yes-- yes," she concluded finally, the fingers of her right hand still fidgeting around the ring. "Yes, I was going to… tomorrow."

Draco watched her cautiously, not saying a thing, but taking notice to the insistent twirling and rolling of the ring. This was going to be difficult. "Do you know where Potter is now?"

Ginny's poise instinctively tautened at the mention of Harry, sending cold tendrils down her spine. "Umm, work, I guess. Or home. I don't know, I haven't seen him since… Thursday."

"You know you will have to request a Warding Charm against him as well, right?"

She allowed the hesitance to shine through in her eyes only for a moment, before clenching her jaw in a stubborn line and nodding. "Yes, I know. And I will, don't look so worried. Tomorrow."

Draco nodded as well, appeased by her words. "The ring will have to come off sometime, too," he added in a voice that could've been considered even, if not for the strained emotion in its undercurrent.

Ginny pursed her lips, locking her eyes with his defiantly. _Don't act like you deem me that stupid. I know what happened and I know what I have to do. And I will do it._ "Tomorrow."

-------------------------------------------

Weaving her way through the busy bustle that reigned the permanently overcrowded streets of the Diagon Alley, Ginny made her steady way to the small caf? at the end of the Chestbourn Street, where Ron usually spent his lunchtime. She had it set in her mind to extract the real reason for Draco's visit to the hospital the previous day. She knew her brother well enough to know exactly what to ask and how to speak so he would let the answer slip. For Ron was never quite capable at keeping secrets in the family, and Ginny was always the most proficient in extorting information out of unsuspecting simpletons.

She had spent the morning prowling the countless halls, the grand antechambers and the busy offices, disrupting the usual flow of work all over the building with questions about the company, its atmosphere, their bosses and so forth. Draco of course approved everything and memos had been sent to each and every department, notifying the workers of Miss Weasley's expected arrival. They were advised to answer truthfully any and all of her enquiries. The latter advice has been embellished by an addition from Mr. Malfoy himself, claiming that though the reporter was disciplined he would not exclude the possibility of Miss Weasley gravely injuring those who would didn't oblige.

Draco's attempt of a joke was promptly retaliated by Ginny when she managed to persuade Sheila, his secretary, to send the rest of the memos out with a mild alternation to the usual Malfoy signature. At the bottom of the page, instead of the words '_Head of Malfoy Incorporated, Draco Malfoy_', a more amiable 'Sincerely yours, Mikul Drakushor' was scribbled in a perfect imitation of Draco's cursive handwriting.

Sheila however, feeling uncomfortable at ribbing her boss in such a manner, brought the alternation to Draco's attention a few hours later. Which caused the simultaneous combustion of every single copy of the memo in the twelve-story building, and a very disgruntled apparition of Draco's head to appear in the fireplace of the office where Ginny currently was. He reminded her somberly that it was still a place of work and such childish pranks are frowned upon. She agreed with a synonymous somberness, promising to never repeat the brute expression of joviality at his expense ever again. After such a promise, it was all she could do not to divulge to her current subject; Mr. Malfoy took ballet lessons in his childhood.

The morning thus passed rather enjoyably, as Ginny spent it talking to people and patrolling one of the most lush and sophisticated buildings in the whole of London wizarding premises. She was once again doing something she found great exhilaration in - working on a story for the _Daily Prophet_ and digging deeper than any other journalist was allowed or simply cared to dig. That is also why when she stepped out of the building that afternoon in hopes of getting some lunch and discovered that she was only a few minutes walk away from Ron's favorite caf, she couldn't pass up the opportunity to interrogate him.

She entered the small establishment and was attacked by the strong smell of black coffee dominating the air, and the loud conversation bursting from the numerous overcrowded tables, at which Aurors, Hit Wizards and other magical enforcement officers settled themselves in for the hour or so of their lunch break. Ginny remembered spending time here almost everyday, back when she still dreamt of becoming an Auror. That was before the permanent patrons' almost indecent affinity for gossip drew her attention away from one dream and allowed it to blossom into another. Ron used to scoff the Aurors' never-ending interest in the latest scandals of the wizarding world, until he himself became engrossed with the common tales. He dismissed it as an understandable occupational hazard.

Ginny scanned the crowd for the familiar mop of violently copper hair and wasn't disappointed to find her brother seated at one of the loudest tables, conversing animatedly with his coworkers. She tried to catch his attention, waving at him once, twice, finally succeeding when a loud "_Ronniekins!_" was unceremoniously barked across the room, which succeeded in drawing everyone's attention. At once the table erupted in thunderous guffaws while Ron, smacking as many heads upside down as he could reach on his way, walked over to his sister.

"Oi, what are you doing here, Gin-bug?" he enquired, leading her to an empty table near a window. "Shouldn't you be out, hunting down the truth and punishing the wrong-doers?"

"Why, are you meddling with other people's affairs and then advising everyone of your findings?" she asked back, meaning it to be a joke, but finding the irony of her words amusing at the last.

"Actually." Ron laughed at her words, sharing the joke about the Aurors' rumor-addiction. "Davies just informed me of your current assignment," he told her, his voice somewhat undecided in its teasing tone. "How convenient."

"Just a coincidence, I assure you, Ronniekins," Ginny retorted, narrowing her eyes at him warningly.

"I said nothing!" Ron hurried to withdraw his implies in mock surrender. "However…"

"Look, I know what your warped mind imagines in that tiny space of your head," she scolded, irked by the words that were left to hang in the air and their inclinations. "But Draco is nothing more than a friend" She squashed ruthlessly the tiny yelp of objection at the back of her head and continued to stare at her brother. "He is helpful and practical and, despite how unbelievable it may sound to you, actually is quite nice, once you get past the Malfoy exterior and--"

"Whoa, whoa, Ginny, slow down." Ron stared at her through surprised eyes, his lips widening into a grin. "I didn't say a word about Malfoy. Though it is interesting to discover he is a 'Draco' now."

Ginny blinked somewhat owlishly, realizing she had automatically jumped into defending Draco in front of her brother's nonexistent accusations. The subject of Draco's affability was becoming a touchy issue with her, and she had to watch herself for future references, before she drew unnecessary misconceptions.

"Bah. I'm tired." She dismissed her own tirade with a wave of a hand. "All I had for breakfast was a cup of coffee. Have you ever known how tiresome wandering about twelve stories and talking to random people could be? Well, a lot."

Ron laughed at her disgruntled expression and beckoned the waitress to their table. After ordering for both of them and watching the waitress leave, he turned back to his sister with a shadow of a smirk on his lips. "Have you at least slept last night? Had any gruesome nightmares lately?"

Ginny shot him a playful glare and shook her head. "No, slept just fine, thank you. What is it? Is that a smirk on your lips, Ronald Bilius Weasley? Have you been spending time with Draco?"

Ginny had to give credit to her older brother. He had made some profound progress from the sheepishly awkward boy he once had been, who would've burst into a fidgeting fit accompanied with a heavy curtain of crimson blush if cornered by a question or a situation. This Ron however, has simply paused himself for an imperceptible moment, his muscles strained in readiness out of educated instinct, clearly sensing a trap, before drawing onwards like nothing compromising had been entailed.

"What would I have to do with Ferret-face," he responded simply. "Nah, it's your department as of lately. Which reminds me, how is Brooks? We've received some troubling information about his father, which was proved to be untrue, but required a visit to the senior's house anyway, and Tomas didn't seem to take it all that well…"

"I haven't heard anything about it," confessed Ginny, sensing the deliberate change of subject. "He seemed fine when I last spoke to him. Why? What about his father?"

"We got an anonymous tip that Victor Brooks was back to practicing Dark Arts again," Ron said. He smiled broadly at the waitress that returned with their orders and waited until she served everything and left, wishing them bon apetit, before speaking again. "But the man is confined mostly to a hospital bed and no traces of magic were detected in his surrounding, so the information was false. The funny part is that the lead came from the inside." He scrunched his nose in confusion, starting to eat.

"What do you mean from the inside?" Ginny couldn't help but ask, her journalistic senses tingling.

"I mean, it was received from one of the inside channels," Ron explained as if it was completely understandable. "Someone from the Department left the folder on Dickinson's desk, cause it had no outside or inside stamps and no transformation spells or anything. Someone had to drop it off manually where no visitors are allowed, so the only ones who could do it are our own. Which makes even less sense, because our people have better things to do than try to frame past Dark practitioners based on bogus information."

"I thought it was one of the Auror commandments to leave all the old hens' characteristics here and not drag them back to the headquarters," Ginny commented, stealing some of Ron's salad.

"It is," he countered, retaliating by taking hostage a piece of her chicken. "It was too stupid thing to do by anyone from the inside. And if it wasn't someone of ours, it doesn't make me feel better, because it means some punk was able to sneak in and out unnoticed. And that's just unacceptable."

"Put Identifying Charms on the entrances," Ginny suggested. "And try to trace back the paper. I think I heard different squads use different parchments?"

Ron blinked at her for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. Then, breaking the silence with a groan of agreement, he nodded. "Yeah, that's right. That's actually a good idea, you know?"

"I try help." Ginny dismissed his praise with a noncommittal shrug and glanced out onto the street. "Umm, so what exactly are you doing here now? Aren't you supposed to be with Hermione?"

"Heh." Ron shook his head, suppressing a laugh that would definitely spray his meal over the table. "She told me if I'm not going to leave her for a while, she was going to chuck the baby crib at me. Considering the fact that my daughter was still in it, I saw it best to retreat-- whoa…"

Ginny's gaze snapped up from her plate to fixate on her brother, who was staring at space with the most dumbfounded expression. "What is it?"

He blinked twice, refocusing his stare on the redhead in front of him, and a small sheepish smile crept onto his lips. "My daughter. That just sounds odd."

Ginny rolled her eyes, exhaling in relief and threw a noodle at him for scaring her. "Why was she so disposed for physical violence? Did you spend all of yesterday sitting by her bed and annoying the living spirits out of her?"

Ron paused slightly again, sensing the ambushing questions once more. Deciding it was better to proceed with utmost caution, he sighed subtly into his tea and replied in the same casual tone. "No, actually, I was out yesterday. But I spent the night there and I guess after the hundredth time I asked her if she wanted another pillow or a blanket, she cracked. Maybe I shouldn't have woken her several times in the middle of the night to ask her that, though…"

"You were out? The whole day?" Ginny enquired with the necessary incredulity in her voice. "What could've been so important as to drag you away from your wife and daughter?"

"Oh, well." Ron furrowed his brows thoughtfully, taking a sip of tea to prolong the silence and when finished, spoke with the same ease as previously. "Ferret-face found out that I knew the manager of Chudley Cannons and begged for an introduction. When I think about it, I really shouldn't have done that because I heard some talk of purchase going on that evening and I _really_ wouldn't like it if the Cannons were owned by Malfoy."

Ginny was struck with disappointment to discover Ron's story matching Draco's so perfectly. She almost frowned and let on of her dissatisfaction, but caught herself in time and instead pressed the issue further. "You wanted to tell me you've abandoned Hermione and Olivia Perdita for a day with Draco and a manager of some Quidditch team?" Her voice was carefully laced with disbelief and vague traces of abhorrence.

"Now, Gin, not _some_ Quidditch team, the _Cannons_," Ron excused himself evenly. "Plus, I couldn't forfeit the opportunity to have the upper hand on Malfoy and showing off my connections in the real world, now could I?"

"Infantile," Ginny blurted upon hearing his little confession.

"Alas," Ron sighed gravely in agreement. "And, you know, I tried to be nice to him for your sake, seeing as he's your… friend, and all."

Ginny almost grunted with despair. The easy tone, the reasonable explanations and the lack of other information, made Ron's words sound so sincere and impossible to doubt, that Ginny couldn't help but feel the seeds of skepticism bloom at high speed. Everything was too reasonable and too understandable, and honestly not at all like Ron. So she had every right to suspect deception, which caused her even more grief to think he would so openly lie to her.

_Ron, not Draco,_ she reminded herself.

"Hey, Gin?" Ron's voice interrupted her inner frowning, drawing her attention back to her conversant. "How good a friend do you think Malfoy is to you?"

Ginny blinked in surprised at the unexpected question and paused. Then, taking a moment to consider his question, she glanced out of the window. Finally sighing, she turned back to her brother's questioning stare and smiled, shrugging nonchalantly. "Quite."

It seemed to appease him and he nodded, returning to his food. "Because from what I've seen, the feeling is mutual."

Ginny's eyes widened fractionally at her brother's words. "Umm, well…"

The need to say something was cut off by Ron himself, when he added absentmindedly, "And I have to say, the thought is very disturbing. I really don't want his visits to the Burrow to become more frequent than 'never', because Merlin only knows what way those Slytherins reproduce! What if he lays eggs and leaves his general Snake-cooties indoors?"

Ginny snorted in laughter, throwing a noodle at her chuckling brother, before resuming her own meal now that the solemn air had lifted. She couldn't help but appreciate her brother even more at that moment, because he was always infinitely different and yet luckily dependable regarding some issues.

She will still have to find out what exactly was the going on between him and Draco, but for now she could simply enjoy the meal in the company of her beloved brother without any further troubling. The occurrence was somewhat rare and thusly had to be cherished.

-------------------------------------------

The rest of the day was spent in the similar manner as the morning, just as every other first day of her researches. She wandered about the colossal building, pausing occasionally when the senses told her to inquire deeper into a certain piece of information she came across or simply a seemingly interesting subject for the story. However she couldn't stop herself from befriending anyone who looked valuable nor could she help extracting the necessary information out of them, using her charm, wit and often Weasleys' beguile.

So it happened that by the end of the working day, she had enough knowledge to start outlining the main point of her article, enough leads to follow to dig out the most interesting facts, and enough dirt on Draco to keep him uncomfortable for half a decade. The latter however, was for her own personal - somewhat perverse, she had to admit - interest and had no use for the article, but was just too amusing and precious to forfeit. So she sweet-talked some of the most useful employees - such as Wally in the Owling Room, Francisca in the Budgeting Committee and Patrick the Head Maintenance Wizard, who was unbeknownst to anyone, one of the most resourceful and knowledgeable workers at _Malfoy Incorporated_ - and got a few very interesting pieces of information that would allow hours of priceless ribbing and taunting.

When the day passed by and the last traces of light frittered into the night, Ginny was surprised to discover the lateness of the hour during her lengthy and animated conversation with Sheila Randall, Draco's personal assistance and secretary. The younger witch was discovered to be just as useful an ally as Patrick was, even if she was oddly loyal to her boss. When Ginny dropped by every couple of hours, after encountering a stopper in her leads, she never failed to redirect her to some other branch or department of the firm that proved to be very promising. At the end of the day, Ginny found herself at the chestnut desk once again, chatting with the secretary over two cups of mediocre coffee, and absently glancing at the pair of closed wooden doors every now and then.

When her unconscious wish finally came true and one of the doors was pulled soundlessly to reveal a tired-looking Draco Malfoy just stepping outside, Ginny couldn't help but notice an odd hitching sensation in her throat. She trailed off her conversation with Sheila, and dug into her purse aimlessly, thoroughly searching through it for something, all the while waiting for him to notice her presence.

"Sheila." He nodded curtly in mild greeting, calling the attention of both witches. "Miss Weasley, I was sure you'd already left."

Ginny glanced up at him, renouncing the search of her purse. "I was just on my way out actually," Ginny stated, glancing at the clock and breaking into a sheepish smile. "About an hour ago."

"What can I say?" Sheila chirped in, as her gaze wandered over the piece of parchment she deserted an hour ago. "I'm an excellent conversationalist."

"Indeed you are," Draco agreed drably, fixing Ginny with a somewhat stern look. "However it is not in Miss Weasley's best interests to be returning home this late."

"It is, however, in the best interest of my article for me to research the subject," Ginny countered calmly. "Crazy notion, I agree, but quite useful with the whole journalist thing."

Draco narrowed his eyes subtly and chanced a glance at Sheila, who was seemingly engrossed by some document on her table to pay them any attention, before replying. "That is not what I meant," he said, stifling an irritated growl. "I meant you shouldn't waste your time so then you're forced to walk home alone. The streets aren't as safe as they once were. Especially not for a young g-- w-- female."

"Ooh, 'female'," Sheila quipped dryly, her eyes locked on the parchment as she scratched something out with her red quill-pen. "He must really like you."

Ginny broke into a smile, which was hurriedly hid at the sight of Draco's cold glare directed at his secretary. "Sheila, you don't have enough work as it is? Would you like me to double your hassle?"

"No, no, Mr. Malfoy," the young witch assured him in a singsong voice. "I am quite satisfied with my current amount of work. By the way, I received an owl from the Honeyduke's and apparently there has been a delay in the shipment of this month's package, so they apologize in advance for the inconvenience and promise to add some extra Saccharine Blood Drops," she informed him, tearing her eyes from the document and smiling up at him almost cheekily.

"Oh, yes," Ginny nodded solemnly, her lips melting into a blissful grin. "The lifetime subscription to Honeyduke's Chocolate Ecstasy Deluxe package… I would've never guessed you had such a terribly sweet tooth. But this actually explains where my mother's chocolate truffles have gone."

"_Thank_ you, Miss Randall." Draco bristled, shifting his glare from the secretary to Ginny. "Perhaps I shouldn't rely so much on your confidence, as it seems you're quite ready dislodge information to complete strangers."

"Oh, no, no, no, no!" Ginny hurried to interject, suddenly fearing she might cause trouble for the young witch. "My information came from a completely unrelated sources," she assured him firmly. "Which will remain anonymous."

Draco surveyed Ginny through bleak eyes, an eyebrow quirked slightly, completely unfazed by her glaring. Tearing his eyes from her, he glanced at Sheila over her shoulder, conveying some silent enquiry through his blank features.

"The reports from the Sneakzims will be on your desk first thing in the morning, sir," the secretary replied unquestioningly, returning to the parchment.

Ginny's face reflected first her confusion, then disbelief and finally settled with mild irritation. "You've sent Sneakzims after me?"

Sneakzims were furry little magical creatures of dark colors, with tiny fuzzy wings and flat reflective surfaces for their faces. By nature, very mischievous, these small creatures have an exceptional memory that allow them to store long stretches of events within them and replay them at will over their mirroring features. When trained, some enforcement squads use them for spying.

Apparently Draco had his own flock of Sneakzims that he used for exactly the same purposes. His lips curled into an indulgent smirk and he couldn't hold back a short chuckle at her indignation. "Please, Miss Weasley, did you really believe I'd allow a reporter to snoop around unsupervised all over my company?" he asked tauntingly, his voice laced faintly with incredulity. "I'm still a Malfoy."

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him, folding her arms across her chest crossly. "I do not appreciate being chaperoned, Mr. Malfoy, and find your antics quite unacceptable."

"I apologize, Miss Weasley." Draco humored her with a short curtsy. "Next time I'll make sure not to inform you of their existence."

Ginny growled inwardly and was about to reply quite cuttingly, when Draco dismissed the issue by speaking up again. "I am heading out, would you like to join me or would you rather stay here and continue the conversation?"

"Go, go," Sheila interrupted before Ginny could reply. "I've got to finish this and head home or else…"

"Mr. Randall still gives your grief over your working hours?" Draco inquired pleasantly.

An act that made Ginny pause and blink at him with slight traces of surprise and disbelief on her face. A thought that Draco Malfoy inquired after his employees' personal affairs was quite shocking for her, even after everything.

"Yes," chortled Sheila, rolling up the parchment and setting it aside before taking up the last roll of parchment in the formerly abundant pile. "It's absolutely hilarious the way he grumbles about me cheating on him with you, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco joined the laughter, shaking his head at the notion. "Tell him it means nothing to me and I'm in it only for the money."

Sheila laughed again, resuming the spell checking of the last document. "Will do. Would you like me to schedule the funeral for a weekday?"

Draco replied in laughter and bid farewell to his secretary. He guided Ginny away to the elevators.

Ginny smiled to herself during the stretch of silence that befallen them, appeased by the thought that Draco was still capable of lightheartedness. She immensely enjoyed seeing him laugh, or smile, or casually converse with whomever, allowing himself to waive the usual callous Malfoy air about him, if only for the short while. She liked the way his skin lit up when the immaculate composure was shattered by bursts of laughter; and the way his eyes creased at their corners, creating subtly shorn wrinkles that gave character and mirth to his features; and that brilliant sound that made its way from the depths of his chest with undulating rumbles of explicit amusement.

She was caught unguarded, though, by the fleeting thought that she would like to always partake these sparse magical moments, and swiftly forced herself to look away, realizing she had been staring.

"So, do you approve?" The silence in the empty elevator was interrupted by Draco's voice, loaded with glee and taunting.

"What?" Ginny quickly blurted, snapping her eyes at him, mortified at the prospect of him noticing her staring.

Draco glanced down at her, his air casual still present even if slightly surprised. "The company, Weasley. Do you approve of _Malfoy Incorporated_?"

"Oh," Ginny breathed a sigh of relief, sensing her cheeks retained their accursed bright hot sheen, and feeling utterly grateful for the dim illumination of the elevator. "Umm—" She stalled to recompose her strangely scattered thoughts, and released a small chuckle when the train of musing was finally established. "Oh yes, definitely. I was pleasantly surprised almost every hour."

"Oh?" Draco arched both brows inquiringly, leaning back against the elevator wall. "How so?"

Ginny turned to face him and followed his lead, leaning against a wall. "Well, first of all I was amused to discover you give out paid maternity and paternity leave. Draco, I never knew you were so for equality."

"It looks good on paper," Draco quirked his brows cockily. "Meanwhile, only one single worker took the paternity leave and that's only because his wife ran off with the milkman."

Ginny smiled, but she didn't look at it the way he did. It didn't matter if people took it or not. What mattered was the fact that he was offering it.

"Umm, oh and I was told about your secret chamber too," she informed him cheekily, nodding sagely at his questioning expression. "Yes, yes. The one you've designed to be built into your office and warded against detection? I was told Malfoy men have a tendency to build in such chambers in all the structures they fund. What do you use it for?"

"Ah," Draco smirked in understanding. "No comment."

"Oh, come on, Draco," Ginny cajoled, instantly trying to smother the whining undertones in her voice. "I'll find out anyway, you know."

"We'll see," Draco drawled, his smirk widening at the mere thought of her annoyance.

Ginny had already started plotting how she could obtain the key to this room from Patrick. Postponing the musing to a later hour, she looked onwards and absentmindedly noted to herself that they were walking down the Wiltings Street and that her feet were carrying her automatically down the route towards the nearest Apparition point. Vaguely amused by the thought, she couldn't help but wonder why didn't Draco install an Apparition point within the _Malfoy Incorporated_ building itself, to save his workers the hassle of bustling up and down the streets.

Shrugging off the thought, she resumed the conversation at hand. "Oh, I've visited the daycare on the second floor, and frankly, was surprised by its existence. The d?cor was slightly biased though, I have to say." She laughed at the memory of serpentine greens and silver, watching Draco's break into a lazy grin, admitting to her undercurrent accusations.

"House pride, Ginny," he stated noncommittally, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Don't tell me you're not planning on brainwashing your children with all that Gryffindor nonsense about honor and valor."

"Of course I will, but they would be my children. Not the children of my employees."

"Ah well, that is where we divert, I say convert as many as you can."

"Well, I still believe you can't _convert_ a true Gryffindor," she stated firmly. "The same with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs."

"Yes, I have to agree," he said with exaggeratedly sorrow. "I've seen countless of brilliant childish minds sorted into the lesser houses after the fine education of the _Malfoy Incorporated_ daycare. You can't win them all."

"Hey!" Ginny frowned irately. "Who are you calling _lesser_ houses?"

"Hufflepuff," Draco instantly replied, blinking in embellished innocence with obvious mocking in his voice.

Ginny shook a reproving finger at him. "It would serve you right to have one of your children in Hufflepuff, Draco Malfoy."

"Gods, please no," Draco grunted dreadfully. "I'd rather have a Gryff-- a Rav--" He stopped, staring blankly before shaking his head. "I'd rather not have any children at all."

Ginny laughed again, unable to take his House-related grief seriously enough to contain her mirth. "You will have to get over yourself. What are the chances all the children would be in Slytherin?"

"All Malfoys go to Slytherin," Draco reasoned evenly, as if it would completely settle the matter. "Besides, every Malfoy generation is raised in a certain way that will eventually guarantee their place in Slytherin."

"That's sad." She screwed up her nose, glancing up at him. "To have such a thing decided for you before you're even born or without your opinion taken into consideration."

Draco didn't reply to that at first and Ginny began to fear that perhaps she hit a sore spot she shouldn't have reached. But when he spoke again his voice was as casual as before and her worries were put to rest.

"It's not like they can ask the fetus how it would like to be raised," he reasoned evenly.

"I guess… it depends on the parents really."

"I guess," he agreed, nodding slowly. "Two Slytherins would raise their child in a way that would imprint a sense of superiority and privilege into him. Combined with the ambitious nature of his parents, the child will grow into a little replica of them, sharing the same strive for power."

Ginny wavered again, wondering whether she should feel uncomfortable and why exactly she didn't. "But the child grows up to be his own person, and though the first decisions of his life are made by his parents, most of the later important decisions are made by him."

Draco pursed his lips in musing and fixed her with a long stare. He appeared to consider her words seriously and for a moment she thought he might continue to press the subject, however he promptly shook his head and dismissed it with a casual chuckle. "Thank Merlin for free will."

She laughed, accepting his dismissal of the subject. "Oh, do you know what I found?" she exclaimed suddenly, her eyes gleaming and her voice full of thrill.

He obviously didn't expect her to burst in such excitement suddenly and he couldn't suppress the instinctive jerk of alarm on his part. She laughed at his reaction and he stared at her for a moment, before relaxing the tension in his shoulders and rolling them easily. "What?"

"Did you know we have advertisements for apartments for rent at the back of _Daily Prophet_?"

Draco couldn't help the jolt of laughter that erupted before he could hold it back, and one glance at Ginny's indignant expression rejuvenated it with new vigor. Both stopped on their way when Draco doubled over holding his stomach, he was only able to smother the residues of his mirth by biting his palm. When he recomposed himself he turned to Ginny with a newly casual expression and nodded lightly. "Yes, I was aware of that. However, I--" he stifled a chortle again and continued. "I was sure you knew that. You're working there for what? Seven years now?"

Ginny rolled her eyes irritably and crossed her arms at her chest again, resuming her walk to the Apparation point. "Yes, well… it's not like I read anything besides the articles."

Draco chuckled again, freezing guiltily only when Ginny fixed him with a seething glare. "Umm, well, you should. There are some interesting columns there, and obviously some useful sections as well."

"Yeah, yeah," she droned briskly, fighting against the urge to stick her tongue out at him. "Anyway, I've responded to some of the ads there and go to check some apartments this Tuesday."

"Good," he nodded, smiling at her remaining annoyance. "Somewhere near?"

"One in Fulham and one in Soho, but I'm not quite sure about the first one," Ginny said musingly, furrowing her brows in thought.

"Why not look for a place here in the Alley? I heard there's someone selling an apartment on Chestbourn Street," Draco offered, gesturing in the general direction of said street. "One of the safest streets in Diagon Alley with the Auror infestation going on there in one of the establishments."

"Really? Oh, I'd love to live on Chestbourn's," Ginny gushed and paused in her walk, wondering if she could make a small detour to see if an apartment was really available there.

"Not now," Draco said cutting into her train of thought suddenly, and pulling her sleeve further down the street.

Ginny blinked down at his hands as his fingers accidentally brushed against hers when he let go, and tried to steady the galloping in her chest along with the rabid insane thoughts. "Umm, right… no, wait… oh, right… wait, 'selling' you said?" she asked, finally able to complete a thought. To his affirming nod, she frowned sulkily and sighed in defeat. "I can't _buy_ an apartment right now. I barely know my regional from government bills…"

"Asked someone?" Draco interjected, his voice heavy with amusement at the sound of her using the different types of bills so casually, when he knew she most probably didn't know the difference.

"Yes, Ron," she admitted, this time succumbing to the childish desire to stick her tongue out at him, which only prompted more laughter. "Anyway, I don't have enough money to _buy_ an apartment."

"I can loan you some," came the carelessly amused drawl.

"I'm not taking your money."

"I'm not giving it away," Draco countered evenly, his eyes reflecting the total nonchalance. "You'll pay me back. With interest, if you will."

Ginny frowned at him, suddenly doubting whether it was a joke. She cast suspicious glances at him from the corner of her eye. "What? No, I can't!"

"Weasley," Draco uttered in a subtle growl of annoyance and rolled his eyes. "Don't make me practice my chivalry, it causes me physical pain. Either you accept a loan for the apartment, or I'm paying its owner a visit and closing a deal behind your back. You know it would appear he's selling the flat for an eighth of its value, so you could afford it."

"Or perhaps I'll just take one of the other apartments," Ginny added, rolling her eyes at his annoying confidence.

"No, you won't," he assured her plainly, glancing up at the looming skies. "Not when you could have an apartment in the nicest part of Diagon Alley."

She frowned and smacked him with her purse. "Prat."

"I'll take that as a yes," Draco informed her flatly, not even noticing the subtle whack. "So where were you at lunchtime? I was told you left."

"Oh yes, I had lunch with Ron," Ginny said almost evenly, watching Draco for any betraying reaction.

However none appeared as the casual air about him remained. "Oh? In that Auror infested caf? on Chestbourn's, right?"

Ginny scowled inwardly, wondering why couldn't he just drop the act and confess or at least act obviously guilty. "Yeah, Ron spends his lunchtimes there."

"Suits him," Draco stated offhandedly, glancing up at the nearing Apparition point.

"What is that suppose to mean?" Ginny frowned at the sudden statement, instinctively preparing to quarrel and defend her brother.

Draco arched a brow at her abrupt shift of demeanor, smirking at the image of an irked cat ready to attack. "It means he did well by not following Potter to the Auror training. He would've never crawled out of that shadow as long as he was permanently attached to that arse."

"Oh," Ginny responded, releasing the tension in her shoulders and nodding. "Yeah… yeah, I think so too."

Silence fell between them. Ginny used the quiet interlude to attempt to chase the fluttering in her stomach away and to ease the beating of her heart. Those were odd bodily reactions to a peaceful nighttime walk on the streets and she wondered if perhaps she was coming down with something. Not wanting to be ill now that so much work lay ahead of her, she decided on going to bed early tonight with a cup of steaming cocoa and a good book.

The thought of steaming cocoa somehow drew her attention back to her companion and she caught the strange sight of light, barely perceptible dusting of pale pink across his cheeks. He was biting down and clenching his jaw rhythmically, as he always did when feeling nervous or uncomfortable, and one of his hands was gripping tightly to the insides of his cloak pocket, while the other gripped the handle of his briefcase with the same ferocity.

A sudden wave of worry washed over her at the thought that perhaps he was coming down with something as well and she had inadvertently made him traipse the streets of Diagon Alley on such cold night just because she got caught up in a silly conversation. Frowning at herself, she quickened her pace and decided to cut the evening short for both their sakes.

Draco caught up easily and leveled his step to hers once again. Accidentally bumping into her on their silent way, he hurried to resound a hastened apology as the mild pink on his cheeks deepened involuntarily, and for a moment Ginny thought that she should be troubled by that immensely.

However she found it simply amusing and smiled to herself at his excessively polite antics as they rounded into the small one-story building that was the public Apparition point. The place was mostly deserted, as always, at such an hour and Ginny moved to stand in the queue, turning to face Draco, who followed her smartly.

"So tomorrow… Want to buy me lunch?"

Draco cocked an eyebrow at her question and his lips curled into a smile. "Want me to go to the Ministry with you?"

Ginny pursed her lips in irritation and scrunched up her nose. "Damn your attentiveness," she bristled sulkily, turning to glance at the person who stepped onto the Apparition lot. "Don't you have better things to do than pay attention to what I said hours ago?"

"I do," he admitted, nodding. "But you're more amusing. And I can go with you, as long as you don't expect me to actually do anything."

"Wonderful," she chirped, turning away. Glancing over her shoulder, she added with uncertainty, "You're still buying lunch, right?"

Draco laughed in response, nodding, and watched another person disappear from the Apparating lot with a distinct popping sound. Ginny was next.

"You know, you should install an Apparition point in that monstrosity of a building of yours," Ginny commented as she stepped onto the Apparition lot. "What good is paid paternity leave, if you can't reach your home without freezing your fingers off on the way to the nearest Apparition point?"

Draco's smirk obtained a delicately underhanded sheen to it when he replied, "There is an Apparition point there. On the ground floor."

Ginny blinked, then frowned at him, propping her wand-holding hand onto her fist. "Why didn't you say anything before we left?"

"What, and deprive myself of the pleasure of your company?" His lips curled deeper and a vibrant sly aura shrouded him suddenly in her eyes.

She fixed him with an irritated glare, trying to shut out the voices of the people behind Draco. "I have a frostbitten nose because you-- oh…"

Her expression froze. All of a sudden she felt her heart erupt in a painful swashbuckling within her chest. She blinked once, twice, but found no satisfactory way of continuing her train of thought. Rather than continue gaping at him, Ginny bid a short goodbye to Draco, and Apparated to the Burrow.


	18. I'm Afraid It Is Too Late

**18 : I'm Afraid It Is Too Late**

Ginny's eyes fluttered open and slowly she became aware of her surrounding. The same well lit, badly-furnished and all around loved bedroom was revealed to her in all of its glory. It sent a familiar warm sensation throughout her body that made her smile and snuggle deeper into the blankets. The night unfortunately wasn't of the best as night terrors claimed her sleeping hours once again, but Ginny had to admit that they were diminishing in their fierceness. Today she woke up with no tears staining her cheeks and no screams smothering her throat.

_Thus is the power of Mum's cooking_, she mused to herself giddily, breathing in the fresh lemon scent of her clean sheets.

Gradually the cloudy pictures of her memory refocused, providing her with the recollections of last evening. An evening that was spent staring at the fire in the living room's hearth with the usual non-so-essential rumbling of her family buzzing about her, while her own thoughts were scattered absentmindedly in probably not the best directions. She was analyzing her acquaintance with Draco Malfoy, an odd sense of disquiet urging her to review the friendship before it was too late. Her own thoughts confused her, but she couldn't understand what crucial element of the situation she was missing.

On occasions she got the feeling her parents didn't support the affiliation, and though they didn't actually voice their concerns, Ginny could easily interpret it from their general behavior. Molly and Arthur were acting somewhat strangely all of yesterday. When Ginny arrived home from work the previous evening and her mother inquired about her day, Molly's discomfort suddenly increased visibly at the mention of Ginny supposedly spending its majority in the company of Draco. Overhearing the same conversation while making himself a cup of tea, Arthur accidentally dropped the cup and quickly cleaning it up, retreated into the backyard shed where he kept all his Muggle trinkets. Ginny hadn't seen him the rest of the evening.

She didn't think it had anything to do with him being a Malfoy and them strongly objecting to their friendship, because subtleness wasn't one of any Weasleys' best qualities and if it bothered them so much, they would've confronted her long ago. However, extremely bothered by her father's reaction, Ginny had to ask her mother later that evening in the living room while the Weasley matriarch was in the more tranquil mood.

"Mum," Ginny called out suddenly, tearing her gaze from the fireplace and glancing at her mother, who was busily knitting one of her infamous Christmas sweaters. "What's the matter with Dad? Is he still sulking about Draco staying for dinner Saturday?"

The well-trained fingers paused for a moment during one of the finishing loops and Molly glanced up at her slightly surprised. Then settling back into a calmer pace, she returned to her knitting, replying softly to her daughter, "No dear, not at all. It is just some work related agitation. I'm sure…"

"How come he left when I mentioned Draco?"

"Oh no, dear, don't bother yourself with that. That was just a coincidence," Molly replied evenly, her hands looping and coiling around the gray wool. After a moment of contemplation, she asked, "So tell me more about Draco, dear… How is he in person?"

Ginny blinked at the question, wondering if she should've anticipated it. "Umm, well…" Shewasn't sure exactly how she was supposed to reply. "He's… nicer than he was at Hogwarts."

What else could she say? He's taller in person than on newspaper's pictures? He's just as sharp a businessman his father was, but not as evil? He's still mean and teasing, but now all his words are received in good humor? He has a tendency to only smile when no one's around, but her? When he smiles his icy exterior shatters ruthlessly and his face lights up with this odd glow that just seems to veil all the sneering wrinkles and worry lines?

Ginny caught herself drifting away and forced her mind to return back to her mother.

Molly chuckled softly into her knitting. "Yes, I gathered that much. The way Ron used to talk about him during the holidays, I was really expecting a miniature Lucius Malfoy."

"Yeah, me too," Ginny smiled bemusedly, inattentively watching her mother's hands weave the threads expertly. "But no, he is quite unlike his father. Well, as far as I know, that is…"

"Lucius was a horrid, horrid man," Molly bristled casually. "With such a proud heritage you'd have thought he'd dedicate some time to learning basic manners." She sighed, wrapping the yarn around her fingers and continuing the knitting. "Good thing the boy seems to take after his grandfather."

"You've met Sir Lynus, then?" Ginny asked, her interest perking up.

Molly once again paused in her handiwork, recollecting her composure after a moment. "Yes, years ago. Such an affable man… Why, have you met him too, dear?"

"Oh no, not exactly." Ginny smiled sheepishly, reaching across the empty couch and grabbing a pillow to hug. "There's a portrait of him in Malfoy Manor's library, so I talked to him there. How could I've meet him if he passed away?"

Molly blinked at her daughter. "Lynus isn't dead, dear. He left the wizarding community a long time ago, but he's not dead."

"What do you mean? If he's not dead then how could there be a portrait of him in the library?" Ginny frowned, not understanding. Didn't the portrait of Sir Lynus talk about moving away and acted as if he didn't want to talk about it?

"Well, if a person has a portrait doesn't automatically mean that he is dead, dear," Molly said in a chiding voice. "Especially in families like the Malfoys. Lynus probably wanted to watch over his grandson and charmed some portraits of him into life. It makes perfect sense actually, after the way he left."

"Why? How did he leave?"

Molly cast her a cautious glance and pursed her lips in consideration. "Well, it is not like I know all the little gory details besides the rumors, and you know how rumors travel and distort around here. But from what I know, he left a couple of years after Draco was born. It was said that he was banished from the Malfoy lands by his own son after discovering that Lucius was searching ways to bring He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named back. Lynus tried to gain custody of his grandson before the Wizengamot."

Ginny stared at her mother through wide, disbelieving eyes. "Lucius banished his own father from the family lands? That's ridiculous!"

"Yes well, that is what they said in the Diagon Alley's gossip mill. After that it was said that Lynus renounced the usage of magic to spite Lucius. I don't know how many of the reasons are true, but Lynus indeed left England's wizarding community and moved to Yorkshire, away from Malfoy lands, so perhaps…"

Ginny blinked and turned to stare at the fireplace, letting her mother's words hang in the air. What she just heard sounded quite fictional, but the more she thought about it, the more sense it made to her. She found herself contemplating the possibility of Draco growing up in a more supportive environment and wondering if it would've made any difference now.

However, a different thought appeared in her head and she glanced timidly at her mother once again, remembering she didn't know a thing of her decision to leave Harry yet. Taking a deep breath, Ginny looked at her mother for a long while before she got the courage to speak up.

"Mum, I'm leaving Harry."

"I know, dear," Molly replied evenly, not even pausing the pace of her knitting. "I wouldn't have expected anything less of you."

Ginny stared at Molly with a smile and resettled into the cushions, picking up her forgotten book.

"And what about Draco, dear?"

Ginny furrowed her brows, looking up at her mother. "What about Draco?" she asked perplexedly. "I'm not leaving _him…_"

Almost somewhat reluctantly, Molly's lips curved into a smirk. "That's what I thought…"

Staring at her mother with even more confusion, Ginny caught the alternative meaning of her words and felt a furious blush spur onto her cheeks. "No, no, I meant it's not like I'm divorcing _him_," she hastily corrected herself.

"Yes, yes… I understand," Molly assured her with the same smirk present on her weary face.

At that time her mother's reply appeased Ginny's panic. However now, lying in her bed and replaying the exchange, she wasn't so sure if it should have. Recalling Molly's tone and the odd smile that was somewhat unnerving seeing on her mother's face, Ginny had a very unsettling notion that perhaps her mother didn't understand. Or that perhaps, what was infinitely worse, her mother _mis_understood and now was musing the possibility of…

Ginny shook her head, stretching languidly in her bed, and swung her legs over its edge. No, that was ridiculous. Her mother wouldn't plunge into wild assumptions because of one little slip her daughter made in the drowsiness surrounding them last night. Though her mother was known to jump to conclusions on numerous occasions, Ginny was fairly sure this was not one of those times.

However that morning, when she descended for breakfast, Ginny couldn't miss the strange, sadly amiable mood her mother was in and the constant doe-like glances Molly had cast her way. When Ginny was finally at the door, cutting her breakfast short because of the unnerving sensations her mother was causing her; Molly didn't miss the opportunity to ask her to send Draco her regards.

If after closing the door behind herself Ginny had glanced back into the kitchen, she would've seen the whimsical smile fade from her mother's lips as the elderly Weasley took a seat near her husband at the kitchen table and fought a fresh stream of furious tears.

----------------------------------------

"Mr. Malfoy?" The voice of Draco's secretary carried forward into the grand office from its equally grand entrance. "Miss Weasley for you."

"Thank you, Sheila. Send her in," the Malfoy heir replied in his familiar drawl.

Ginny smiled at the retreating secretary, proceeding into the office alone.

"Wait just a minute, Weasley, I have to finish this," he muttered absentmindedly over the document in his hands, not even sparing her a glance.

Ginny nodded and proceeded to one of the visitors' leather-chairs, looking around herself. The office bore the same light emerald motifs as the entrance hall several stories downstairs and the reception just outside the doors. The ceilings were high, the windows were wide, and aside from the large mental piece, the main desk, the chairs and some bookshelves, the chamber was elegantly scarce in overbearing designs. It had a feeling of openness and simplicity.

Ginny liked it even more for the fact. Mostly because it was such an accurate reflection on its owner in hers eyes. Draco, like his office, was massive and unmistakable in its presence. It had the sublime elegance only few people managed to perfect in their lifetimes, and additionally he didn't need great pretences of taste and bought finery, because he simply possessed it with no superfluous aids.

"Are you done evaluating my office?" Draco asked suddenly, his drawl laced with amusement.

"Not just yet," she replied, making a show of scrutinizing the fireplace, before turning to face the smirking Draco with a smile. "Now I am. And stop calling me 'Weasley'."

"Can't," he replied immediately, rolling the finished document and rising to his feet. "It's stuck."

"Then un-stick it," Ginny grumbled, narrowing her eyes at him in half-hearted irritation. "How come I can call you 'Draco' just fine and you can't do the same for me?"

"You want me to call you Draco? Don't you think it would be slightly confusing?"

Ginny rolled her eyes in exasperation and decided to drop the subject, as it was dismally pointless. "Prat."

Draco nodded a somber agreement, his eyes scanning a different document for a moment. "Remind me where we're going now?"

"Gringott's first, and then the Ministry," Ginny sufficed, picking up a glass paperweight from the desk and inspecting the fine work.

"Gringott's? This is the first I've heard of this," Draco commented, looking at her with an arched brow.

"Yes, perhaps because I just thought of that?" Ginny offered with a slightly sheepish smile, placing the delicate, overly expensive knickknack back onto the table. "Come now, you're already accompanying me to the Ministry today. What is the trouble with a small detour?"

"It will take longer than a lunch-break," Draco pointed out, glancing at his pocket watch.

"You're the owner of this place," Ginny dismissed his protest quickly. "You don't have to bother with time regulations."

Draco only arched a brow at her again and glanced out of the window for a moment, before sighing in supposed defeat and turning back to her. "Fine then. Merlin, how glad am I that I'm not the one paying your wages with such offensive attitude towards time schedules. Do you have all the necessary for the opening of a new vault?"

Ginny paused, jutting her jaw in an odd angle in consideration. "Why, what do I need?"

A small grunt of exasperation escaped Draco's lips and he rolled his eyes, sitting back down. "Besides the wand? Records of any steady income and the numbers of at least two other vaults of kith or kin who might credit for you if necessary."

"Oh." Ginny formed the sound with her lips, looking away, before glancing back at Draco. "Then no, but it's not a problem, because I can just Apparate home and get that stuff," she assured him, standing up. "I could use Mum and Dad's account and… well, I could ask Ron for his vault number."

For a moment Draco seemed like he was going to say something, but thought better of it, and instead just nodded, picking up a different document and unrolling it in front of him. "Don't be too long."

Ginny waved a hand at him dismissively and made a move towards the door when his voice resounded again.

"Use the fireplace."

"Right." Ginny nodded resolutely and stepped towards the large decorative fireplace, which erupted in flames the moment she came close enough. Eyeing the small silver urn atop of the mantle piece, Ginny took a handful of the ashen powder and cast it into the hissing flames, watching them burst into an emerald blaze. She smiled at Draco's bent form one last time and stepped into the fire, stating her destination loudly.

Green hues and prickling specs of sand sped around her in a vortex as she was carried through the web of interconnected fireplaces around Britain, all the way to the cheerfully blazing fireplace in the Burrow's living room. It finally discarded her non-too-gently on the other side, spurting clouds of black ashes to settle into the living room rug. Coughing softly, Ginny absently swept away the soot from her robes, reaching inside for her wand. After a few muttered words, the rug and her cloak were spotless again.

Though Ginny often appreciated the higher safety ratings of Floo powder as opposed to Apparition, she still had her qualms about the perils of the accompanying filth. Shooting the fire, that was once again prancing within the hearth in all its orange glory, a hateful look, and mumbling something spiteful under her breath, Ginny made her way to the kitchen. The door was shut, which appeared a bit odd to Ginny, and there were muffled sounds of vibrant conversation. She recognized the voices as belonging to Ron and Molly, and was about to enter the room when she heard something that made her pause.

"What do you mean how do _I _know? It's my job to know these things! How do_ you_ know about it?" Ron almost shouted incredulously.

Ginny hadn't practiced the terribly bad habit of eavesdropping since a year into her marriage, when she accidentally overheard her parents declaring their mutual emotions while using such colorful language that she couldn't bear looking at them straight for a month. However during her school years whenever the opportunity presented itself she frequently indulged in the act of listening to others' conversations completely unnoticed. Of course, being in the same house as her prankster brothers and the infamous Boy Who Lived, opportunities presented themselves quite often. She liked knowing things others could only wonder about, because knowledge was power and power was good.

So, just like her brother's mature and waned temperament had the tendency of lapsing back to its barely-controlled state within the premises of their childhood house, Ginny decided to lapse into her mildly busybody period and have a little harmless fun. Shrugging to release the cricks in her shoulders, she took a step aside and quietly leaned against the wall of the narrow corridor, fixing her attention on the people just behind the wooden door.

"Well…" Molly seemed to hesitate, and Ginny could practically see her gaze falter uncomfortably. "A friend informed us."

"A friend?" Ron echoed, subtle confusion lacing his voice. "Who?"

There was silence again, then Molly murmured something incoherent. However, her brother's reaction took care of that.

"_Malfoy_? He told you _too_? What-- how-- when--" Ron sucked in a sharp intake of air, recomposing himself. "Bloody ferret… _why_?"

Ginny's eyebrows firstly shot upwards and then resettled into a deep frown. After a moment of thought, she recollected the mysterious exchange that occurred between her brother and Draco, and an eager interest was ignited within her once again. It obviously didn't have anything to do with Quidditch and if so, what other business could there be between him and Ron, or her parents for that matter? Especially if it was something that he felt compelled to lie to her about.

Watching her breath so it wouldn't resound too loudly in the corridor and alert the others, Ginny leaned closer to the door in an attempt to hear better.

"No, dear, it wasn't_ Draco_," Molly's assuring voice soothed the agitated redhead. "But it really doesn't matter, Ron, because either way we know."

Ron was silent for a moment before his voice echoed slightly calmer. "Fine then… I guess it is for the better, because I didn't know how I was going to handle you when you received the news."

"Well, it was hard news to receive," Molly said with a sigh, her voice undertaking the serious tone Ginny learned to dread. "How long have you known?"

"We've had our suspicions," replied Ron. Ginny heard the sound of scraping chair and assumed he was taking a seat at the kitchen table. "Most of the cooperators were silent, though. Afraid, I guess and I can't really blame them. I only knew for sure this Saturday, when Malfoy told me."

Ginny's frowned deepened even more as she struggled to piece together what her mother and Ron were talking about. There was horrible news that had something to do with Ron's work as was stated in the beginning, which was inadvertently confirmed by Draco. Cooperators usually meant Death Eaters who turned themselves and everybody else in when the war started to incline heavily towards Harry's victory near its end. Judging by all this, her mother's graveness, and her brother's leaking exasperation, Ginny couldn't avoid the obvious conclusion - there has been a detected increase in Death Eater activity.

She felt her heart pick up its leisure pace, skipping beats, while one hand instinctively gripped her wand. _This wasn't that much out of the ordinary_, she assured herself calmly. There are some residues of the ardently fanatical Dark Lord followers, who had avoided capture and somehow manage to survive, now trying to rile up the underground once again in the fickle name of purity. It wasn't something to be overly worried about, since there was scarcely anyone nowadays who listened to ramblings of lunatics. Why then did Ron and Molly sound so excessively grim?

"The mark?" Molly asked, probably conveying the rest of the question through her expression.

"Yes, but not his," Ron responded evenly, his voice slightly muffled. "Blaise Zabini paid him a visit the other day."

Ginny blinked. What did the Dark Mark have to do with the Death Eaters' activity? The Dark Lord was long gone and he was the only one who could activate the curse placed on those heinous engravings. Did someone find out the spell Voldemort used? Was that person now hurting the cooperators?

This was indeed huge. Ginny's journalistic senses urged her to storm into the kitchen and demand an exclusive interview from her brother about these occurrences. However, some other instinct - probably the one that warned of the evils of one black diary and one oh-so-charming boy, the same instinct that prodded her to leave the Aurors and pursue journalism, and on another occasion nudged her to follow a certain ashen-haired Slytherin - commanded her to stay still, to keep quiet and heed.

"Blaise Zabini? Wasn't he in Azkaban?"

"No, he never reached it," Ron informed her dismissively, and to her terrified gasp, hurried to explain. "He was a cooperator, a very valuable one, but the Wizengamot refused to except his cooperation, because it was offered seemingly too late. We intercepted his convoy and smuggled him out of the country. He came back to warn us. He's been living among Muggles, so his Mark received no healing attention and no antidote-spells. It's inflamed and burning up, and he's in constant pain. He said it's been growing gradually for months, but got speedily worse the past two weeks, and if it goes on for any longer, he might lose his arm… in the best scenario."

"Oh dear," Molly breathed heavily, probably clutching her chest. "Oh dear, poor boy! Where is he now? Does he have anyone tending to him?"

Ginny heard a soft chuckle coming from her brother and couldn't help the smile herself. Their mother had a very infamous affinity for taking care of stray children, and obviously she didn't see why it should stop now when she was approaching her old age.

"He is staying at Malfoy's right now," he finally sufficed. "And being taken care of by the house elves. I was told they're good at what they do."

"Oh, that must be Ora," Molly added after a thought. "Such an efficient and polite little creature."

Ginny decided that if her frown kept deepening it might forever remain in its wrinkled form, and quickly smoothed her forehead. However the surprise and confusion were still present on her features. How did her mother know Ora? Why wasn't anyone in this family telling _her_ anything?

Smothering an irritated growl, Ginny contemplated simply walking in there, getting what she needed - including the excusive interview - and leaving as quickly as possible. However that choice was taken from her when Ron spoke again.

"Yes, well, good, but that's not why I came," his voice bristled with newfound urgency. "I need to find Ginny now, do you know where she is?"

A surprised silence ticked by for a moment, before Molly finally responses flatly. "What does she have to do with this?"

Ginny couldn't practically feel in the air Ron's palpable attempts to steel himself against his mother's reaction. "I have orders to place her in a safe-house."

Silence again, this time stretching out longer and on both sides of the door.

Why did Ron need to place her in a Ministry safe house? What did she have to do with the Death Eaters, the cooperators and the inflaming Marks? Why would she need to be guarded by the Ministry officials?

Then a thought flashed through her mind, hinting her that it might have something to do with Draco, but what exactly her mind couldn't even begin todecide, because the silence was shattered by her mother's raising voice.

"What do you mean you need to take her away?" Molly's voice sounded clearly through the door, laced with panic and defiance. "I will not sent my baby to a Ministry safe-house! Don't you remember the Gardner's incident?"

The Gardner's incident was one that occurred years ago during the Second War, when a Ministry Official by the name of Winston Gardner leaked vital information regarding the Ministry havens to the Death Eaters, which led to ruthless raids and the deaths of countless cooperators and innocents.

"Yes, Mum, I remember it very well," Ron's voice replied, undertaking a sudden solemn undercurrent to it. "Pansy was in one of those houses."

Ginny almost winced under the graveness of his voice, remembering all too well the antagonizing, patronizing, and all around not so pleasant Pansy Parkinson that somehow managed to befriend Ron in their final year and gain a special place in his good graces. She then betrayed her own family, supplying the Order with all the information she'd accidentally overheard and was sent to one of the Ministry safe houses when the Death Eaters started eliminating the traitors within their ranks. Unfortunately, she was also one of the casualties in the haven raids and Ron never stopped blaming himself, because he was the one who convinced Pansy to leave her half-maddened father's erratic protection and trust his own.

"I'm… I'm sorry, dear," Molly sighed apologetically. "I just don't see why Ginny should be sent away at a time like this. These are very difficult times for her as it is, even without the knowledge of You-Know-Who's return…"

The deafening pounding of rushing blood in her ears all of a sudden drowned out the rest of whatever her mother was saying. Her heart was throbbing so fast within the confines of her ribcage Ginny was sure she would faint for a moment. The outskirts of her vision darkened instantly and a fierce vertigo shrouded her mind, sending gruesomely vivid images of previously known horrors spiraling through her consciousness. She clutched at the wall in an attempt to steady herself and stared at the closed door in dumbfounded paralysis.

_Voldemort_… was back?

_NO! _How could this be? Harry had vanquished him all those years ago in the Chamber of Secrets! Everyone had seen Dark Lord's lifeless, deformed body! He cannot be back! It is just ridiculous! No, it's simply _impossible_!

"Mum, my job is to make sure Gin lives long enough to get through these times," Ron said sternly, his voice ringing clearly through Ginny's ghastly musings. "We have reason to believe someone will target her directly soon and I would really appreciate it if you'd just tell me where I can find her."

"What do you mean 'target her'?" Molly's voice pitched in panic, fear for her child overpowering any other sensations. "What does she have to do with anything?"

"First of all," Ron's voice resounded, carrying and undeniable note of irritation. "She was an Order member and Order members will more than likely be targeted first," he explained with all the calm he could muster in the presence of his frantic mother. "And second of all, as Harry's wife she's at greater risk of being attacked, because she could be used as valuable leverage not only against him, but against prominent Order members as well."

Silence settled in the kitchen once again, though Ginny thought she heard her mother softly sobbing a couple of times. She still couldn't quite force herself to grasp the news. What Ron had said made perfect sense, but it didn't make things easier to cope with, at least not for her..

"What does Harry say?" Molly's voice carried through the silence with some obvious difficulty. "Have you talked to him yet? Does he know?"

"Harry…" Ron mumbled, his voice trailing off in odd directions. "No, I haven't talked to Harry, because Harry is missing."

Ginny felt her chest constrict violently along with her mother's gasp and a sharp, "What?"

It seemed Ron had been holding a breath, because at the sound of that question he exhaled audibly. "No one has seen or heard from him for over a week now. He hasn't returned any owls, hasn't showed up for work and… I've been to their house earlier this week. No one's been living there, not for days."

"You think…?"

"Voldemort? It seems the simplest explanation, but then if You-Know-Who got Harry and killed him already, he would've launched a full and open attack on the Wizarding world. It doesn't make sense to kill your strongest opponent and still lay low."

"Have you tried Locators?" Molly offered, desperate to grasp at any plausible possibility.

"Six Locators, eight scrying charms, four Searching Draughts, _plus_ two Seers were placed on the job," Ron replied, sighing dejectedly. "We got twenty five different locations from them, each of which were rejected by the search parties."

"Oh Merlin!" Molly cried out, instantly burying her face into her apron. "Poor boy! He didn't deserve this! Poor, poor…" Molly sobbed softly, shaking her head miserably. "Oh my poor baby!"

Listening to her mother's renewed wave of tears, Ginny struggled through the reeling fog around her mind. Her stomach was performing impressive somersaults, causing the horrid taste of bile to rise up within her. Violent trembles seized her hands, making her tighten her grip on her wand. Her knees almost gave way, quaking alarmingly beneath her, and it was all she could do not to collapse onto the floor. Propping the entirety of her weight against the wall, Ginny stared forward with wide horror-filled eyes, trying to grasp everything, yet renouncing it completely. _No, no, no, oh gods, please no! _Her breaths were shallow and she felt her chest constrict painfully as she struggled with the news.

A wave of fury crashed over her, forcing the desire to slide down the wall and whimper pitifully to vanish. As always in situations that caused her great deal of stress or grief, she flooded her great reserves of infamous Weasley wrath, directing it full-force at a not-so-innocent bystanders. Her eyes flashed angrily when she remember the offhand way Draco lied to her about his meeting with Ron and just like that her hands were no longer trembling from fear, but from immense resentment and the itching desire to hex Draco into the next millennium.

The rational part of her brain tried to quell her impending reaction, reasoning that it was perfectly understandable why Draco came to Ron with his information and not her, because Ron was not only a Ministry Official, but also Head of a Hit Wizard division in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was only logical to inform the Ministry first and not the press.

But rationality and logic had little to do with a Weasley in distress and so when Ginny overheard her mother directing Ron to the _Daily Prophet_'s editorials, she backed away quietly from the door and hurried to the fireplace, guessing it wouldn't take that long for the editorial secretary to redirect Ron to _Malfoy Incorporated. _

Casting a handful of silverish Floo powder into the flames, Ginny stormed into the jade flames, almost growling her destination. "Draco Malfoy's office."

The familiar spinning commotion erupted around her as glimpses of different fireplace openings flew past her eyes, before melding into general green scenery. Moments later she stumbled onto the clean marble floor of the vast chamber, greeted by a faint coughing sound to her left. She instinctively jerked her wand about her, charming the clinging soot away, and snapped her head in the direction of the coughs. Apparently Draco had been waiting by the fireplace.

"I was wondering if perhaps you got lost on the way," he drawled irritably, his eyes peering at his pocket watch. "Were those extremely _long_ vault numbers? What took you so long?"

Further irked by Draco's behavior, Ginny couldn't help but fix him with a glare, her hand still gripping her wand, though now somewhat shakily. "Why didn't you tell me was back?"

He froze. For a moment it seemed he was going to lie, to choose the Slytherin path and slither his way out of the corner with suave words, but the moment passed. Instead of a bemused smirk or a perplexed arch to his angular eyebrows, his features settled into the steely austerity he tended to wear in arguments.

"I didn't see how it was necessary."

"Necessary?" Ginny echoed, trying to keep her voice from rising prematurely. "Necessary? What does necessity have to do with anything? How could you not tell me such a thing? How could you_ lie_ to me?"

"Who told you? Your brother?" Draco inquired calmly, preparing to sneer at her affirmation and scorn the so-called Head Hit Wizard for his incompetence.

"No one told me!" Ginny shouted, feeling last traces of control slipping away at the sight of Draco's galling composure. "That is the point! Apparently _everybody_ knew - informed by Malfoys, may I add - and no one told me!"

"You're overreacting," Draco drawled edgily. "You had no business knowing that before anyone else."

"_Overreacting_?" Ginny hollered. "I've just overheard a conversation between my brother and my mother, in which they revealed that the most powerful Dark Wizard of the previous century has risen _again_! Don't you dare telling I'm overreacting when you should've warned me of this long ago!"

"What good would it have done?" Draco droned, resisting the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation.

"I would've known!" Ginny exclaimed, frustration with his impeccable poise coursing in her mind. "I would've had the time to get used to the idea before Ron decided to haul me away to a safe-house!"

"Safe-house?"

"Yes!" Ginny snapped, brandishing her wand with emphasis. "He believes that as Harry's wife, I might be targeted by the Death Eaters and wants to send me away. And I would've known he would decide something like this, I would've been prepared for something like this, had you told me before I had to discover it by eavesdropping! Why didn't you tell me?"

Fixing her with an impatient stare, Draco clenched his jaws. "I didn't see how it had anything to do with you. I went to your brother because, as bizarre as it might sound, he was the only one working for the Ministry I could think of that I trusted. It. Had. Nothing. To do with you. You are taking this too personally."

Ginny took a step back, her eyes widening subtly at his words and her heart suddenly bleeding for some reason. She felt the wind go out of her one moment, and the next felt as infuriated as ever.

"Of course I'm taking it bloody personally!" Her fingers curled into rigid fists and her nails dug into her flesh. "Because it _is_ personal, you insufferable git! It doesn't get more personal than this! We fought that bastard! He died! Why can't he _stay _dead? He just keeps finding ways to come back and it is beginning to be ridiculous because-- because-- because it _just is_!"

Her voice broke with her last words. The great reserves of anger cracked open and seeped out, meshing and molding into other, fiercer and more lethal feelings. Her hands were shaking and somehow she lost the grip on her wand, allowing it drop to the marble floor.

"And now they say he's back again and people are going to die again and more friends will be lost and I just _know_ that this time my family won't be as lucky and someone might-- might… And I just feel so bloody useless and helpless because it doesn't matter how much I fight, how much I want to help, how much I want to kill the bloody reptile! Because Harry is missing and who is going to fight Tom now? Now that the blasted Boy Who Lived turned into the Man Who Beat in this perverse sense of reality! The villain! There's no heroes left to fight the Dark Wizards and I just can't stand it because it's going to start all over again every single time and I don't-- I _can't_-- And-- and _you_! You stand there and tell me it is not personal? How… why… just…"

Before she noticed, her vision was blurred and her eyes were freely spilling rivers of pure misery, while her mouth was forming incoherent mumbling and her whole body was shaking violently. Only a moment passed before her trembling form was engulfed by a pair of strong arms. They were awkward at first, as if attempting to perform the act of comforting while maintaining some precious distance between the two bodies, but after recognizing the attempt as futile and ridiculous, they tightened around her, drawing her firmly against a wall of chest that bore exactly the same soothing scent.

Ginny instinctively gripped the robe material beneath her quaking fingers, burying her face into the scented lapels. Tears continued leaking from her eyes and she still tried to form words to carry on what she hadn't said yet, but her efforts were constantly interrupted by sobbing and muffled cries. She was forced to give up eventually and simply accept the inner ranting. Lately, things had the maddening tendency to bombard her all at once, leaving her defenses crushed and useless, and it seemed to her she hadn't stopped crying this past week.

When the smog in her mind began to gradually fritter away and Ginny was once again capable of coherent thoughts and perceptions, she became aware of the support and restriction of someone's embrace. She also became acutely conscious of the fact that Draco was the only one in the room when she first began crying, that the pleasantly soothing scent was the same one that clung to the sheets and pillows of her Malfoy Manor bed, and therefore, she concluded quite reasonably, she was being held by Draco Malfoy.

Something appeared to be extremely wrong with the concept and she contemplated moving away, apologizing and escaping immediately. However, the next minute found Ginny nevertheless standing still within the calming cage, dismissing her antics as momentary vulnerability and claiming everyone was entitled to their moments of weakness, therefore let this be hers.

An odd thought occurred to her when she tried to replay what exactly led to this moment. Ginny remembered that she came here because she was insanely mad at Draco for not telling her what he knew sooner and lying to her instead. Well, it seemed to be perfectly acceptable when she was on a verge of a breakdown, but now she couldn't help thinking that the excuse was pretty feeble as she honestly expected him to lie daily as a part of his Slytherin and Malfoy charms, and she really did have little to do with the news up until Ron decided to place her in a safe-house.

Could it be that she was merely searching for reasoning to come here and… and what? Fight with him? Yell and let off some of the steam? Blame him for all of this world's wretchedness? Or perhaps she fully expected - or desperately needed - him to understand why she was so upset and comfort her?

She felt a mortified blush creeping up her chest and across her cheeks when she was forced to admit the truth of her last notion. Somehow she did expect him to see right through her and offer some sort of understanding or comforting promises of peace and quiet. Indeed he didn't actually grasp immediately the fragile state of her mind and countered her with irritation and logic, however it all dissipated listlessly against the fact that he indeed offered to console her, though quite truthfully Ginny didn't expect such physical appliance of comfort even in her subconscious.

Softly clearing her throat, Ginny leaned slightly away, glancing up at his immaculately sculptured features. His gray eyes were darkened with something that caused the bottom of her stomach to twist into a knot. His lips were curved expressionlessly. The deep wrinkles gave him the air of permanent dissatisfaction, which didn't quite dampen the feral sparkle in his eyes. There was a dangerously intense concentration on his face and a familiar thought flashed through Ginny's mind — She should probably feel undeniably uncomfortable right now. Nevertheless, the thought was smartly ignored since it wasn't exactly discomfort she was feeling.

"I--" Ginny croaked out hoarsely. She wanted to apologize, but then realized she didn't feel there was anything to apologize for, so instead she swallowed and sufficed with a soft, "Thank you."

Draco nodded wordlessly, understanding the outburst and her need to break down, but made no move to disentangle himself from her. "Yeah," he whispered, his voice quiet and oddly raspy. He watched her intently as she nodded subtly herself and still didn't attempt to draw away.

Then, the air around her suddenly shifted and the next thing she knew, he was leaning closer and closer still, his lips appeared to be drawn to her own with unbreakable threads. A brush of warm breath cast her mind into exhilarating reeling, fogging her thoughts and perceptions to the point of nonexistence. Her eyes widened and her lips parted ever so slightly, the shortening distance increasing the frantic jolts up her spine. Her body however, not heeding her internal roaring agreement, stiffened against his breath, her back straightening into an inflexible angle.

Sensing the sudden rigidity of her figure against his, Draco searched her eyes for a brief moment before biting his lower lip, squeezing his eyes shut and hanging his head down dejectedly. His fingers bunched up around the fabric of her robes against her waist and slowly, almost painfully, he took a step back.

Ginny felt a new sense of alarm crashing over her, accompanied by the sudden frigidness from the lack of contact. Her eyes widened in a frenzy at the sight of him taking yet another step away, his own eyes firmly imbedded at every other point than her own presence. She caught herself on the desire to call out, "Hey! Where're you going?" at him, and was quite horrified by the thought. Forcing herself to also take a step away, and only managing nudging one of her feet back, Ginny stared at him, fully expecting him to slip into some unbearable veneer and greatly dreading it.

"I'm sorry," he finally rasped out, clearing his throat awkwardly and taking yet another - though considerably smaller - step back. "I shouldn't have--"

But his words were suddenly drowned out by a pair of small desperate lips crashing against his.

Ginny gripped the lapels of his robes fiercely, feeling an almost frantic need to drag him closer, hold him tighter, taste him better. His lips weren't as cool as she never dared to imagine consciously, however she was right and that delicate camber of his upper lip made all the difference. Her lips parted tentatively, pulling him closer, urging him to lean lower and ask for - nay, demand - more. Her little fists drew him closer, but there was little response and for a brief moment, she felt utterly and irrevocably humiliated.

However when a tiny mewling sound escaped her lips and she didn't even notice, Draco did and a soft growl at the back of his throat indicated that he was indeed paying the utmost attention. His arms wrapped her tightly once again, lulling her to lean into him as he took control over the mutual need for the contact. While her hands crept up and around his neck, still pulling, coaxing, caressing, his lips were hell-bent on exploring every single piece of her that was offered. Something blazed within them, connecting and interweaving with such zeal, they found it difficult to pull apart even when oxygen was lacking.

"Mr. Malfoy? Mr. Weasley here is looking for Miss-- oh, my…"

"_Bloody-_-!"

----------------------------------------

Each time thoughts of Dementors entered Arthur's mind, he was sure to remember all the horrible stories every wizard and witch were told throughout their lives by parents, friends and acquaintances, and the scarce yet unforgettable encounters he himself endured during his lifetime. The impressions were deep and gruesome, and Arthur vowed to himself never cross paths with these heinous creatures of his own free will.

How inapt was it that right now he was following one of these creatures through dark and damp corridors, walking on grounds he was never destined to tread, accompanied by a man from a bloodline he swore to avoid? He felt his stomach churn, flipping unpleasantly as it was to be expected in the presence of these_ things_. Both he and Lynus were given instructions by the Ministry Officials to keep at least five paces between the guards and themselves, not to look or come in immediate physical contact with them, and of course hold their wands at the ready and at the first sign of distress shoot out red warning sparks. They were naturally not as worried about the prisoners, for after years in Azkaban a scarce few were still able to humanly converse with their visitors. 

Still following the towering guard, the sound of its swishing robes and raspy breath increasing the pace of his troubled heart, Arthur squeezed his eyes against the running images of death and destruction the creature's mere presence bestowed upon him. He saw his brothers and friends die, his children fight a seemingly lost battle, everybody around him giving up and crying in pain over the dead bodies of their beloved ones. He saw George in the hospital bed and heard the penetrating wailing of three female figures - his mother, his sister and his fiancée - over him when the Healers finally gave up themselves and claimed that there was nothing else they could do. He saw the petrified eyes of his youngest, and only baby girl, when she saw her own husband walk into the room, the gruesome fear around her becoming almost palpable.

His knees weakened and he halted, swaying in his stance and trying to clutch at the wall for support. Instead he grabbed a fistful of robes, as someone's hand clamped around his arm and he was drawn back into balance.

"Take deep breaths," the now familiar voice of Sir Lynus Malfoy resounded to his left and Arthur nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "We're almost there."

They continued their walk through two more corridors with the same low ceilings, cold black stonewalls and the damp, moldy air, until finally stopping in front of a plain wooden door, the same as the countless other plain wooden doors they'd seen on their paths, and the Dementor wordlessly drifted away into the shadows. Arthur watched the creature disappear, drawing a heavy breath when it was finally out of sight, and felt the vice grip around his stomach loosen ever so slightly.

With the cumbersome presence out of the way, he turned to inspect the door in front of him. It stood little shorter than he, and was roughly arched at the top, as doors often tended to be in the wizarding world. There was a soiled tablet charmed to the door, where ancient wizarding runes carved in coal declared the occupant of this cell to be none other than Lucius A. Malfoy, the Dark Lord's right hand man and a formerly infamous businessman. 

There were no locks or locking charms on the door, which surprised Arthur and caused his attention to avert to the older man. "No locks?"

Sir Lynus regarded him silently for a moment, after tearing his tired gaze from the tablet, and nodded gravely. "No need. Would you like to desert the only barrier between yourself and them?" he asked, tilting his head towards the shadows.

Arthur glanced behind himself into the direction where the guiding Dementor had disappeared only moments ago and barely stifled a shudder. "Of course," he agreed, looking back at the older man. "Well… shall we?"

Sir Lynus nodded and reached out to knock on the door, before pushing it open and taking a step inside.

Following suit, Arthur stepped into the small cell. Arthur glanced over the blacks walls and the low ceiling, the meager excuse for a bed to one side of the room covered with bloodied, tattered sheets and moth-eaten blanket, the lavatory propped against the opposite wall, and the tiny round window peering just from under the ceiling. The only light was cast by the single flame of a nearly burnt candle standing on the rickety table in the left corner, which was laden with scrolls and various size pieces of what seemed to be simple brown wrapping paper. A straight-backed man sat beside it, scribbling something furiously on an unrolled scroll of parchment with a chip of coal, oblivious to the interruption.

"Hello, Lucius." Sir Lynus was the first to speak, his voice calm and strong, drawing the attention of the prisoner.

Arthur couldn't ignore the sizzling burst of hatred that dissipated almost immediately at the sight of deep black smudges leering at him from beneath the once arrogant glare. The pale lips that were once permanently carved into a smug smirk or a hateful sneer, were now slanted awkwardly in a blunt and crude mockery of their past. The hands that were clutching the charcoal were quaking miserably and the once pampered, sparklingly clean palms were now sporting scrapes and open sores, left from the countless times he attempted to franticly scratch his way away from the vicious guards. The gray gaze of his eyes was so haunted and terrified that there was simply no comparison between this shadow of a human being and the proud, infuriating Lucius Malfoy Arthur once knew and loathed.

"Hello, Lucius," mimicked the staring man, tightening his fidgety grip on the charcoal.

"It is Father, Lucius," Sir Lynus explained patiently, taking a step closer.

"Father…" Lucius mumbled to himself once, then over and over again, as if trying to recollect something from his flaky memory. "Father," he said again, looking at Lynus through wide expectant eyes. "Father… _paper_!" he finally exclaimed, his lips curving into a pitiful mockery of glee.

Sir Lynus drew a shaky breath and nodded, pulling out a hastily wrapped bundle from his robes and offering it to the prisoner. "How have you been?"

Lucius snatched the packet immediately, tearing the wrapping and setting it aside before pulling out four new scrolls, two pieces of charcoal and a fresh candle. Only after arranging everything in their places - scrolls with the scrolls, wrapping paper with the other pieces of paper, pieces of charcoal in a bunch at the top of the table - and shakily replacing the candles, did Lucius answer. "All right, Father. Have been all right."

Sir Lynus sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something to himself under his breath. Arthur only just made out what had escaped his companions lips. "Merlin, help me." He decided that he didn't even want to attempt and try to imagine how difficult this must be on his companion.

Sir Lynus beckoned him to take a step closer and spoke up again. "Lucius? Look who came with me today."

Arthur took a diffident step forward and leveled his stare with the one of the prisoner's.

"Weasley," Lucius sneered. "More children than money can afford…"

Arthur didn't even feel surprised when the words spoken by Lucius Malfoy, words that used to send him into a furious frenzy, now spurred nothing within him other than discomfort and fathomless pity. "Good day, Malfoy."

"Marvelous," Lucius drawled evenly, eyeing the former archenemy. "Had any children lately?"

"Enough," Sir Lynus stated quietly, fixing Lucius with a reprimanding stare. "We haven't come here for this. Lucius, we have to ask you about something. But you will have to remember."

Lucius' face immediately distorted into a grimace. "No, Father. I don't want to remember."

"There is no choice, I'm afraid," Sir Lynus uttered apologetically. "You will have to."

Apparently settling with such a lacking reason, Lucius slumped visibly in his chair and fixated his glare to the floor. "Remember what?" 

Arthur couldn't help but notice the sulky intonation.

"A prophecy," Sir Lynus said, walking over to the shoddy bed and taking a seat there. "There was a prophecy that connected Draco and Arthur's daughter," he explained, gesturing to Arthur to sit beside him. "The prophecy you and Arthur attempted breaking?" Sir Lynus continued to supply information, watching his son's expression sift from frowning to pondering to agonizing and so on.

"You bleeding _Gryffindor_!" Lucius exclaimed suddenly. "You perform a Dark ritual, chanting god knows what in a language you don't understand; as far as you know you might get yourself killed if you do not finish the sentence, and you piss on it all and rush to aid your most loathsome enemy? Merlin, you are unbelievable!"

Sir Lynus glanced at Arthur inquiringly and Arthur, staring in the most dumbfounded way, nodded briefly. "How can he--?"

"Doesn't matter," Sir Lynus interrupted, turning back to his son. "Lucius? I need you to remember how to revert that spell. You have to remember the countering ritual."

Lucius shook his head, looking away from the floor and at the misty windowpane. "Can't. Impossible. Futile."

Sir Lynus and Arthur exchanged troublesome glances before Lynus spoke again. "What do you mean?"

"Futile." Lucius shrugged noncommittally, still gazing away.

"Why?" Arthur demanded. "Why is it futile?"

"Weasley." Lucius sneered instead of replying, as if seeing Arthur for the first time. "If freckles were gold, eh, Weasley?"

"Lucius," Sir Lynus rumbled lowly, drawing the attention back to him. "Why is it futile?"

"Because the prophecy wasn't broken," Lucius said plainly, shrugging again. "It was only scared away by the screaming spirits… ran away… and came back the next morning."

Arthur and Lynus exchanged looks once again and Arthur shook his head. He couldn't understand why the Fates would put his daughter through such horrible suffering if they hadn't even broken the prophecy. What had they done that deserved such misery, if no rules were broken?

And if no prophecies were broken, then was it still connected to the Dark Lord? And if it was, then how?

"Lucius, where is the Prophecy Orb now?" Sir Lynus continued.

Lucius shrugged for the third time and looked away, not replying.

"Lucius," Sir Lynus repeated, his voice bearing a heavy edge. "Where is the prophecy now?"

Lucius fixed him with a bold glare, his eyebrows creasing into a feeble excuse of a frown. Then, suddenly the glare frittered away and instead his eyes shone with fright. "He took it."

"Who? Voldemort?"

Lucius nodded expressively, his hands clutched together absently scratching each other. "Damn that brat…"

Sir Lynus quirked an eyebrow at the last remark, not quite imagining Lucius referring to the Dark Lord as 'brat' and leaned closer to him, watching him warily. "What brat?"

"The ruddy boy," snarled Lucius, banging a fist on the table. "He should've died. Should've… should've, should've, should've…"

"What boy?" Lynus demanded, trying to draw Lucius' attention back to him. "Whom are you talking about?"

Lucius stared at his father for a long time, silence carressing both in morbid stillness. His features seemed to shift and change in the flickering light from haggard and sallow to grotesque and wicked. His fingers fluttered to his father's face, prancing across the white cheeks and the high forehead, finally settling on his chin.

"Boy," Lucius whispered wistfully, gazing at his father. "I have a son… my little, terrible Dragon… I-- I never told him… Father, I never told him," Lucius whispered franticly, trying to explain something unexplainable, his fingers drawing teardrops and flames across his father's still features. He didn't even notice the trembling lips of the old man and the single traitorous tear threatening to spill.

"Father, I never told him, I never told him! I should've told him!" Lucius whispered miserably, his own features distorting horridly as tears began brimming his eyes. "What Lynus told me when I banished him… oh father, I never told him! I wish I could tell him… do you think he would understand? If I told him now, do you think he would understand, Father?"

"I--" Sir Lynus attempted to reply, but words choked him and tears betrayed him, and soon he was weeping like a child himself.

Arthur scolded himself inwardly, claiming that he should've left immediately and wait outside the door, but he couldn't. Not only for fear of encountering one of those horrible creatures of the shadows, but because the sight quite appallingly mesmerized him. The image of two proud Malfoys - one nearing death in age and the other desolately demented - weeping together over something he couldn't even begin to understand, paralyzed him with some perverted sense of fascination.

"No, son," Sir Lynus finally breathed out in his once again composed, deep baritone. "I'm afraid it is too late."

"For shame," Lucius whispered back, his own tears drying instantly as he forgot what exactly made him so upset just moments ago. "Do you think he remembers me?" he asked flimsily, gazing at the window pane again. "When it fogs I can hear him roar over the ocean… but he rarely comes to visit. Almost never, actually. I wonder what Cissa's doing now? She always had the sweetest little fingers…"

Sir Lynus clenched his jaws tightly and gestured for Arthur to head for the door. "Lucius, we're leaving now."

The painful bleak gaze snapped over to them again, as if searching for recognition. Finally his eyes settled on Arthur and his lips were drawn into a sneer. "Weasley…"

Sir Lynus spun around immediately, pushing Arthur out of the door, following him, and slamming it behind them. Taking a deep breath that quaked despite his attempts to steady it, he took out his gloves from his cloak's pocket and took time to pull them on.

Arthur stood still for as long as he could, holding his breath for fear of letting it out and crumbling apart himself. His hands and knees were trembling, his breath was labored and his chest was once again constricted painfully, though this time it had nothing to do with the Dementors. He glanced at Sir Lynus, noticing his attempts to swipe the tears away discreetly, and instantly looked away. His heart was bleeding and it was extremely strange to admit that it was weeping for his former enemy, and his father, and his son, and just a tiniest bit for Arthur himself.

He was resolute on not saying a thing and simply leaving as fast and as silently as possible, however the words slipped out before he could check himself. "Why did he speak about you in third person? When he talked about you telling him something… before the banishing."

"Because he doesn't know I'm that Lynus," the Malfoy replied evenly, his composure as immaculate as ever when it slipped back on.

"What do you mean? He calls you--"

"He calls me 'Father' because I asked him to," Sir Lynus replied, tugging his right glove into place. "He does not make the connection between myself and Lynus Malfoy - his father - and when he does, it always lasts him just enough to curse and blame me for every crooked thing in his life," he added calmly, starting down the corridor the same way they came. 

----------------------------------------

When the door to the kitchen quietly slid into its lock behind Ron, the sound brought a frantically weeping Molly Weasley into the kitchen. The elderly witch cried out empathically, embracing her daughter in a lethal vice grip of a hug, bewailing her horrid fate and the cruelty of higher beings. She quickly and repeatedly assured her that the safe-house was only a temporary situation, that she would owl her daily, that she had already packed all of the necessities and Ginny shouldn't worry about a single thing, just trust her brother and Molly herself with everything.

Ginny smiled courageously, assuring her mother she was just fine with the situation and that she indeed trusted Ron and her with anything, but could she please stop crushing her ribs? They're the only ones she has…

"Oh, right! Right, right, dear, of course," Molly cooed, letting go of the woman and taking a step back. "Are you hungry? Have you eaten? Would you like me to whip up something for you? It'll be just one second-- She has time to eat, doesn't she, Ron?"

"Mum, mum, I'm all right," Ginny coaxed the anxious woman again, shrugging out of her cloak and hanging it over a chair. Her gaze was inconspicuously avoiding Ron's searching eyes, with practiced grace slipping from her mother to the background and back. "But I'll take you up on the offer of food. Would you mind? An omelet, perhaps?"

"Of course!" Molly exclaimed devotedly, slipping her stout wand out of nowhere and immediately setting into a full-blown orchestration of kitchen utensils. "Absolutely… now what would that be - cheese or veggies?"

"Veggies," Ginny replied automatically, watching her mother for a moment, before sensing a pair of inquisitive eyes boring into the back of her head. Clearing her throat, she inched towards the door. "Umm, but do you mind if I lay down for a moment? My head is a bit dizzy…"

"Oh, oh yes, dear, of course!" Molly exclaimed hurriedly, turning to usher Ginny out of the kitchen. "You go up to your room and lay down… I'll bring it up in a moment."

Thanking her mother from the bottom of her heart, Ginny scampered out of the bustling kitchen and headed upstairs, taking two steps at a time, until she was standing before her door. She pushed it open, taking a step inside, and was greeted with the sight of two packed bags lounging innocently atop of her bed. The virtuous attempt to escape immediate reality, if only for a short while, was thwarted dismally by her mother's good will.

Sighing, she grabbed the bags and slung them to the floor, allowing herself to collapse gracelessly onto the springy mattress. Her eyes instantly closed and she pressed her face into the pillow, releasing as fierce a scream as she trusted her thin walls to contain. She needn't have the whole house hearing just how _not_ fine she was with her current situation, especially when most of them wouldn't understand and some might attempt to question her.

Of course, she had to admit - at least to herself - that the situation at hand was mostly her fault. She was the one who fell in love with the Boy Who Lived and married him; she was the one who ran away from the Man Who Beat; she was the one to follow Draco Malfoy into his house and accepted his help when she knew she shouldn't trust him; she was the one who befriended the blasted Slytherin and enjoyed his company more than was appropriate for a Weasley; and finally, _she_ was the one to _kiss_ him just now in his office.

Another scream was muffled by the potent power of goose feathers and no one was the wiser.

She was on the right path back towards a free and healthy life on her own; why did she have to get attached to someone _now_? Why did she kiss-- no, wait, she knew why she kissed him, that part was painfully obvious. She was upset and frightened and he was there, comforting her. It had been so awkward being comforted by someone who was not her family, but he just sort of melded into her sobbing form and she could've simply not noticed the additional support if it wasn't for that delicate fresh smell. He was just strong enough and tall enough for her to smartly lean into his chest, and though he told her repeatedly he was not there to give her free answers, he was willing to lend the support he could muster and it was just… better.

Ginny sighed, peering over the edge of her pillow to the headboard and reaching over to aimlessly trail the floral engravings while in deep thought. So did she kiss him only because she was upset and he was present? For the reason Ginny refused to identify, the thought caused a pang in her chest. She didn't want that to be _his_ only reason - kissing back because he didn't want to upset her even further.

No, actually, she caught herself on the realization that she didn't want it to be _her_ only reason, because she understood how easy it was to confuse mere gratitude with something else. Perhaps she didn't want to believe there was only gratitude there? Perhaps she enjoyed his company, not only because he wasn't her family or Harry, but also because he was himself. The snarky, arrogant, irritable git that he was, he still managed to make her laugh and feel better when she didn't even know she needed to feel better.

Damn him. Damn him and his charms.

Ginny scraped at the wooden surface of the headboard with her nail, scratching the already chipping paint, and sighed for the third time. Thanks to methodical values of emotional breakdowns, she now had a clearer view on herself, but what good did it do if it only clouded her view of the general situation. Now she only had more questions - What would she do the next time she sees him? How could she still ask for his help as a friend? What exactly was _his_ take on the whole situation?

She traced another loopy pattern of roses and dandelions on the wooden headrest, her fingers curling and following the deep carvings deferentially. During a particularly intricate design, her eyes were drawn to a band of white gold around one of her left-hand fingers, and her heart ached more. Harry. Her husband. Her hero. Now her worst fear.

She was cheating on him. Was it considered cheating? With his former archenemy. Was her behavior considered promiscuous? Was she one of those women her mother's gossipy friends always made a face at, because they were so horrid not a single member of the infamous Blair's Witches Knitting Club wanted anything to do with her, from fear of her flirting with their balding husbands? Was she what her mother sourly discarded as a 'scarlet woman' and hence the lowliest of women?

The thought, though amusing as it might sound to an outsider, made her stomach churn.

And now the Dark Lord was rising again and nothing was safe. A horrid thought flashed through Ginny's mind when she realized Draco would probably be of the first cooperators targeted after the Death Eaters come into power again. She felt her heart sink, then rocket right into her throat as panic surged her conscience. What if this was it? What if this time she lost everything she dared to hold dear, just like Tom told her would happen, all those years ago? What if this time nothing would be enough to vanquish this creature? Would it be the end of wizarding world as she knew and loved it?

Despairing of her dreary thoughts, Ginny sprung off her bed, hoping that the vertical position would bring forth more positive notions. None appeared immediately, so she walked slowly to the window, her hands tucked in her jeans back pockets, and her teeth nervously gnashing her lower lip. She traipsed slowly to and fro, hoping her head would stop throbbing and her heart stoppounding, or that some compassionate higher spirit take pity on her and send her into depths of peaceful slumber.

But obviously, to her ultimate luck all the compassionate spirits were either occupied or on their lunch breaks at the moment, and Ginny remained in her aching, throbbing, gnashing, traipsing self, fruitlessly trying to cast off the unnerving imagery.

In one last attempt, her eyes scanned the room and all its shelves and flat surfaces for a book, a trinket, or a toy, _anything_ that would aid her in distraction. Twirling slowly around on her tiptoes, Ginny's gaze reached the small desk and finally landed on the simply wrapped parcel, tied with a dainty silver ribbon. She almost whooped with joy as she recalled the Goodbye present her Aunt Eloise gave her the evening she left and the fact that she still hadn't opened it. Blessing Merlin and whoever was responsible for such a pleasant interruption, she picked up the parcel and flopped onto the bed, untying the lovely ribbon and ripping apart the plain wrapping.

Inside was a small silver jewelry box, in its simplicity bearing no great difference from the usual cheap jewelry boxes. She smiled fondly at the memory of her aunt, all thoughts of discomfort and indignation forgotten at the sight of such genuine attempt of reconciliation. Carefully lifting the lid, Ginny took notice of the small piece of parchment lying on top of the present itself and promptly picked it up, not heeding to the present in her expectation of a letter of apology. Unfolding the thin paper, her eyes rested on the slanting handwriting she couldn't help but recognize. A grip of dread and confusion surged within her as her eyes skimmed the short line.

_Dear Ginevra,_

You promised me 'Until death do us part' and I have full intentions of holding you to that promise.

Love,  
Harry. 

Ginny's heart gave a terrified jerk and her fingers weakened instantly, sending the parchment onto the bed. Her lips parted in dismay, her eyes widened in terror, and it was all she could do to bite back a scream. Bewilderment and horror flooded her at once, as she glanced into the box to notice a simple band of white gold lying on top of a black-suede cushion, the inscription on its inner side partially gleaming in the light -_ H. J. Potter_.

Fingers trembling and deafening pulses in her ears sending jolts of pain through her conscience, Ginny reached into the box to pick up the ring and inspect it closely, hoping against hope there was some simple explanation.

However, the moment her fingertips brushed against the cool surface, she felt a notoriously familiar pull behind her navel as her bearings were yanked from beneath her feet and she was hauled forward by the Portkey charm on the wedding ring to an unknown destination.


	19. Violent Emerald

All of you who still follow this story and still check in every once in a while - thank you! It has been decidedly difficult to commit myself to anything stable because of the current situation in the Middle East. Things has been hectic and you have no idea how glad I am to be updating this hugs readers close to bosom

In any case, as always I suggest to those who enjoy my writing and prefers lighter/fluffier stuff, to visit my livejournal (a link to which can be found on my Author's page). Also, if you would like to be noticed in the future updates, leave your email in the review.

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**19 : Violent Emerald**

Ron still remembered the good old days with fondness. Despite everything they'd been through, despite all the worries, heartaches and fights, he still caught himself sometimes missing the licentious blabbermouth his little sister once was. He missed the annoying brat with too many freckles, too many boyfriends and the painful right hook. Because in the past, he had still been the hot-tempered brother who was zealously overprotective over his baby sister and hence had every right as the only present older brother, to pummel every single male creature within ten foot radius of the blasted hellion.

He had to admit it was a lot easier then. The procedures were simple and known to all - if Ron spotted a bloke loitering around Ginny like a pompous peacock, he would simply take the culprit aside for a civil chat, explaining that no loitering and no peacocks were welcomed in the area. Of course, Ron's perception of 'civil' often included hysterical bellowing, painful promises and a broken nose or two. Then he would return to the Common Room for the usual battle of wills between himself and his sister, in which words neither of them meant were hurtled at each other, along with a few Bat-Bogey Hexes on her part and indignant threats to tell Mum on him. After disowning him as the jealous prat he was, the parties would retreat to their respective corners to fume and simmer for a while by their friends took sides. In the next three to five days they would seek each other out, apologize for their words, share a hearty conversation, hug and part ways again, with her thinking she had finally gotten through to him and him believing he'd done his brotherly duty and still on alert for the next bloke who'd attain the likeness of a pompous bird in front of his sister.

That was then, that was simple, understandable and that was what would never be again. Because ever since Ginny started dating Harry, his own best mate, in his sixth year - and believe him when he says there were thrice as many of his infamous 'civil' conversations going on and still the suicidal bespectacled hero refused to back down - Ron had to begrudgingly accept the fact that Ginny was out of his control. His dreadful musings were confirmed when he wasn't greeted by the usual shouts and hexes the moment he stepped into the Common Room after another chat with Harry, but by a calm looking Ginny who approached him with a genuine need to talk. They'd had the hearty talk, the hug without the previous fight and spiteful words, and when he watched her smile at him and thank him with a tentative kiss before skipping off to greet Harry, Ron was struck with the realization that she would never scream furiously at him and demand him to mind his own business ever again. She was beginning to change and grow up, and if he wanted to keep her close to him, he had to grow up as well. With a heavy sigh, he had picked up his homework and went to seek out Hermione in the library.

Now, however, Ron couldn't be sure he had done the right thing by allowing Ginny to make her own decisions, because not only did it end up leading her into misfortunate situations more than once, it also ended up leading her into the arms of the most loathsome Slytherin enemy ever imagined!

He had to admit it was a bit of an exaggeration, but inwardly he was panicking and he had every right after the scene he had walked in on in Draco Malfoy's office less than an hour ago. A young girl's brother should never witness such concentrated passion and eagerness, for his is a very shaky mental state, with a photographic memory and a very weak stomach to boot. The scene had caused him great discomfort – not to mention a slightly nauseated stomach - and he had the nagging feeling that they should have talked about it, if only to set some things straight.

Were they dating? How long had it been going on? Why wasn't he told before, so he could've had the opportunity of pounding the bloody snake the previous times they've met? Was it why he came to him when Zabini appeared on his doorstep? Or perhaps things were completely different and it was just a singular occurrence, which they both thoroughly regretted and would never dare to repeat ever again?

If the latter was the case, then things might be looking up for Ron sooner than he'd expected, because after such an exchange there was no way the two would continue their misfortunate acquaintance and proceed to avoid each other like a leper plague. Oh joy! However, if his first dismal thoughts were the correct ones, Ron preferred to know immediately, so he could go ahead and order limitless supplies of Ogden's Extra Thundering Firewhisky, because he would never be able to survive family gatherings while being completely sober.

"Ron, what is it, dear? You seem troubled." Molly's voice rose among the sounds of clutter of scurrying kitchen utensils, bringing him back to his current whereabouts.

Ron rubbed his face tiredly and took a seat at the kitchen's table.

Instinctively picking up on her son's troubled mind, Molly cracked another two eggs onto the frying pan and stirred. Leaving the eggs to fry, the bacon to sizzle and the charmed knife to cut and butter the bread, she lowered herself onto the chair opposite her son and gave him an inquiring look. "What is it, dear?"

The redhead glanced at his mother from the corner of his eye, seeing her willingness to help and eagerness to know, and exhaled loudly. "What can it be, Mum? It's everything," he replied, summoning a bottle of Butterbeer and tiredly opening it.

Molly sighed deeply and waved her wand at the teakettle, filling it with water and lighting a fire beneath it. "You-Know-Who… Ron, it's going to be all right. He hasn't risen completely yet and probably doesn't even has control over his Death Eaters yet. It will take him time and meanwhile the Ministry knows what's going on and is going to do all in its power to stop it. We are better prepared and well alerted this time," Molly said reasonably, her voice laden with soothing tones despite her own trepidation.

Ron leveled his mother with a stare, contemplating whether to tell her what he witnessed in Malfoy's office or not. Deciding against it, he simply nodded in response, picking up his mother's train of conversation. "Perhaps, you're right, Mum. But it just seems that after each time, he becomes stronger and more invincible--"

"Well, his invincibility is highly disputable considering his previous, numerous downfalls," Molly pointed out lightly, trying to make her son smile.

The attempt was unsuccessful however and Ron's brows only furrowed deeper. "And that is another point altogether - Harry. He has been the one to fight He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he was the one to carry this burden on his shoulders, but now… Even if he wasn't missing... Merlin, where the hell is that idiot? How can I ever trust him enough after what had happened with Gin? How am I supposed to fight alongside with him, when I would be fighting the desire to kill him?"

Molly sighed, an expression of graveness settling on her face. "I don't think anyone of us would ever be able to look at Harry exactly the same way, dear. But you are forgetting that there was never anything extraordinarily special about him, apart from his own brave heart, his ability to form loyal and strong friendships, and his parent's devoted love," Molly spoke quietly, a soft smile gracing her lips as she brushed away a persistent copper lock from Ron's eyes. She cupped his chin and tipped it towards her, smiling fondly at her youngest boy. "In those things he was never richer than you."

Allowing himself a small lopsided smile for his mother's sake, he took her hand, squeezing it affectionately, and placed a light kiss on her knuckles. "Thank you."

Molly smiled back before glancing at the stove, and charming the eggs and bacon off their respective fires.

"Mum," Ron broke the momentary silence, during which Molly left the table to prepare the tea. Hoping that the elder witch would be able to clear up a few other things for him, he cleared his throat. "What do you think about Malfoy?"

Molly paused in her tracks, glancing at her son briefly, and returned to making the tea. "What do you mean, dear?"

"I mean…" Ron echoed, gesturing anxiously with his hands. "What do you think of him? Do you consider him … err, passable?" He made a note to himself to rinse his tongue out with the 'Super Soaping Sophie's Soap' later on.

"Passable?" Molly asked, arching her brows in slight surprise. "Well, he's an amiable enough young man. He has good manners and a good head on his shoulders. And of course what with him helping Ginny out and sending Ora over, then… I guess I think highly of him."

"That's what I was afraid of," Ron mumbled under his breath and took a sip of his Butterbeer.

"Come to think of it, he really has gone out of his way to help her," Molly mused, placing a cup of tea in front of him and plucking the bottle out of his hands. "What with him sending Ora over to help her make Ginny's stay at his house more acceptable – so polite, you know? Borrowed some family recipes, inquired about Ginny's habits and such… Oh, and of course, I don't even know _how_ he retrieved her wand…"

Ron couldn't stop himself from staring at his mother. Had Ferret really done all those things? Oh gods, this _has_ been going on for a while now! What did he do to deserve this? What kind of a sin enforced such a cruel and unusual punishment on his red-haired head and how could he redeem himself instantly?

"Why, dear? Why are you asking?" Molly asked absently, busying herself with the eggs.

Ron glanced at his mother warily; contemplating whether to say anything or not. "Because I don't think she's that impartial towards him."

Molly arched an eyebrow, giving her son a long hard look. "Well," she said steadily after some silence, bracing her hands together. "She is a grown girl and she has the right to be 'not that impartial' towards whomever she chooses."

"You see, I know you're right, but I still want to lock her up in the bedroom and cut off all of her hair so no one would ever get to her," Ron explained in a falsely reasonable tone, picking up his teacup.

Molly chuckled, shaking her head from side to side. "She will be just fine with all her hair intact, dear. Have some faith in your sister. Now will you do me a favor and call her down here? The eggs are just about ready."

Ron laughed as he put down his cup and got up to his feet. His mother was right, of course, and he knew it, but wasn't it one of an older brothers' duties to be a great big prat and instill the fear of all that's relative into their sister's potential interests? Wasn't it his right to be suspicious, considering the fact that it was _Draco Malfoy _they were talking about? Wasn't it demanded of him to at least threaten the Ferret? Just a tiny little bit?

Chuckling at the thought, Ron reached the third landing of the rickety house and rapped softly on the door. "Gin-bug? Are you all rested? Because food is--"

The door slid silently open with no resistance and no sound of greeting from inside. Copper eyebrows settled into a mild frown and Ron peeked in, not seeing his sister anywhere. Straightening in surprise, he glanced behind himself into the hall and called out her name, but no answer came. Confusion spurred random and frantic thoughts, he took a step in and scanned the room, calling out for her again and peering into her inbuilt closet. She was nowhere to be found.

Seeing the rumpled bedspread, he walked over, noticing a small silver-colored box laying beside a sheet of parchment the same size. He picked up both, eyeing the box suspiciously before glancing at the parchment. His eyes immediately recognized the handwriting he copied from for seven long years.

Eyes widening in panic, his grip tightened on the piece of paper, as he understood what exactly it meant. Dropping the box onto the bed, he pulled out his wand and after a few muttered words and articulate gestures he detected the powerful pull of a Portkey charm. Ron cast a glare at the parchment in his hand, his stomach twisting into a painful knot, and swore loudly, before hurrying out of the bedroom and back downstairs.

Halfway through his descent, his mother's voice carried up the stairs with an audible fright in it, causing Ron to leap over the four remaining steps. His heart continued to beat wildly as he rushed into the kitchen, his eyes immediately searching for his mother and finding her pale as ghost. She was leaning over the familial heirloom - the enchanted clock cherished by the family through generations - and her face was stricken with horror and trepidation.

Molly's wide eyes slowly crept up to meet her son's. "My baby! She's in grave danger!" Ginny's hand was indeed pointing to the most disheartening situation - grave danger. His stomach flipped and he bit his tongue, using such colorful language in his cursing that he preferred to keep it inward.

Suddenly, a flash of brilliant green light from outside caught his attention and he dashed out of the door, hoping against hope to see Harry and being able to stop him. However, the moment he was outside, his hope perished completely and was replaced by a new sense of terror as something luminously green drew his attention upwards.

There, above the extensive structure of his beloved Burrow, stark against the harshly black evening sky, shone the violently emerald sign that impaled fear into every other wizard's heart - The Dark Mark.

"_Ron_!" His mother's voice pierced his mind, bearing new laden waves of panic from the kitchen's window. "The southern wards have been trespassed!" Then, after a short pause, during which Ron's eyes traveled to the southern borders of their property and deemed to see shadows across the horizon, his mother's aghast cry carried over when she finally noticed the damned Mark over their house.

"Gods, it has began," Ron whispered.

--------------------------------

Tapping the tip of his quill over the piece of parchment he was suppose to study and finally sign, Draco Malfoy kept his gaze firmly locked on a nonexistent object located somewhere between himself and the door. His other hand, propped on the armrest of his chair, was absently stroking his lower lip, while his mind was in deep thought, lost in sweet recollections of previous occurrences.

His mind spun in somewhat of an inappropriate exhilaration when he recalled the taste of those lips mixed with bitter tears of misery and frustration, and altogether creating a wondrous symphony of bittersweet bliss at the bottom of his stomach. His memory pierced him with the fact that she was the one to engage the kiss, and a burst of laughter jolted his shoulders, trying to overpower the beating sensation in his chest.

He caught himself suddenly and smothered the laughter as well as the imbecilic grin, putting his glasses back on and making a show of clearing his throat pointedly for no one in particular. Casting away any thoughts of anything, but the document before him. He stared defiantly at the parchment before him for five minutes, his eyes skipping along the same lines three or four times and still being unable to comprehend their meaning.

Groaning, he took off his silver-rimmed glasses and allowed himself to glance at the fireplace, wondering if he should forgo any attempts at concentrating tonight and head straight to the Manor to see how Blaise was doing. His condition has been painfully worsening ever since he appeared at the Manor, and the previous evening when Draco had come home, Ora informed him that the curse on the Mark was growing stronger despite the antidotes, resulting in several spontaneous combustions of the inflamed area – searing black flames that were protected from Ora's attempts to extinguish them. They eventually would cease on their own, but she preferred to keep him _Stupefied _during the seizures, and heal the scars afterwards.

The dreary remembrance cast any exuberating thoughts right out of his mind, as his musings drifted back to the Dark Lord. The inflammation of Blaise's untended Dark Mark was a direct implication of the Dark Lord's current state of mind. As always the Death Eaters suffered from Voldemort's wrath and rejoiced in his glee, and in this case, with Blaise's Mark remaining as it was years ago, he was forced to suffer each burst of the Dark Lord's fury with extreme anguish, like all those years ago.

Draco himself was spared from the affliction, having the heinous imprint sufficiently hidden underneath layers of covering and healing charms which brought him no knowledge as to the Dark Lord's feelings whatsoever. He did, however, feel a slight tug at his left forearm an hour ago. A sensation that resembled the one Voldemort used to summon his Death Eaters forth.

Draco promptly ignored it, dismissing it as a rogue and unsolicited burst of power. He highly doubted the Dark Lord would be in any form able, or willing to go about the summons so bluntly, so early in his rise. He was most definitely aware of the numerous cooperators who bore the Mark and would certainly report the episode to the Ministry.

He rolled his eyes at his own notions. Of course those traitorous pigs wouldn't do anything of the sort! The fact that the Dark Lord had been vanquished for just over a decade and that they'd already betrayed him once, were not satisfactory reasons to erase their bone-chilling fear of his probable and imminent vengeance. They all were cowering in their respective abodes, knowing that their Master was on the rise and soon they shall be forced to atone for all they've done against him, and that meant sluggish and excruciatingly painful demises.

Resuming the nervous tapping of his quill, now for a completely different reason, Draco's mind wandered back to his good friend lying on his sickbed with the accursed engraving literally burning through him. Draco was never the one to hold abundant reservoirs of hope, and so the most salient thought that accompanied the images of his feverish friend was the one of his inevitable death. Because the Dark Lord himself could only lift the bloody curse, and even if Blaise would beg for his life, he would suffer greater anguish and even more so painful death.

No longer finding solace in the continuous tapping, Draco tossed the quill onto the desk, interlocking his fingers together and leaning forward. Well then, what was there to be done? What other Healers to be summoned and what magic invoked? He would not let his friend waste away to nothing just because of some obstinate wizard, not knowing how to stay dead for more than a decade.

A sudden bustle from outside his office broke his train of thought, forcing Draco to look up and refocus his wandering vision on the great wooden doors. A cry of astonishment was resonated in Sheila's voice, immediately followed by a louder current of rapid speech by someone else. Draco was about to frown disapprovingly at his secretary's gossipy nature and cast a Silencing Charm on the office, when the doors were flung open by a pair of delicate arms and a very shaken Miss Randall burst into the chamber, her eyes wide with dread.

"Mrs. Randall, good Merlin, get a grip on yourself!" Draco commanded in an only a slightly panicked tone, on his way to Sheila's side. He caught sight of some other secretary's back disappearing into the elevator, before taking a hold of his own and trying to guide her into a chair. "What is the meaning of this? What has happened?"

"Mr. Malfoy!" Sheila exclaimed, refusing to take a seat and standing her ground while gripping at his sleeve. "Mr. Malfoy, you would never believe! I was just told by Silvia from Accounting, and I can't quite grasp it myself! Oh, Merlin!"

"Sheila, for heaven's sake, contain yourself!" Draco snapped, not appreciating the beating about the bush and the slightly hysterical secretary. "What is it you were told by Silvia from Accounting, and why am I paying her if she uses company time to distribute gossip and upset the actual working staff?"

"Mr. Malfoy, don't talk that way about Silvia!" Sheila bade in shock, her hands now clutching at the rapidly beating heart. "Her heart is in the right place and she hurried here the moment she heard these… these horrors! I was assured, by her, this is no fiction and oh, Mr. Malfoy, how horrible it is!"

Taking in the frantic disposition of his usually levelheaded and sharp secretary, Draco couldn't help but feel his stomach twist anxiously. From her words it was not difficult to conclude the direction of this horrible news, considering the fact that Draco himself was anticipating something ever since Blaise appeared in the library of his Manor. The Dark Lord had finally struck.

"Sheila, you have exactly fifteen seconds to make yourself clear, or I am pulling out my wand," Draco warned smoothly, reaching into the pocket of his hanging robes for emphasis.

"Well, what with the amount of hearsay coursing about the building regarding your and Mrs. Potter's relations, she thought you should know…"

Draco felt as if the wind has been knocked out of him. His face paled instantly, having no actual affect on the already pallid complexion, but leaving him as shaken as his secretary if not so readily showing it.

"What about Miss Weasley?"

"Oh, Merlin!" Sheila exclaimed once again, burying her face within her face. When she glanced back up, her eyes were strained with unshed tears, and when she spoke her voice was but a mere whisper. "The Dark Mark… it has been spotted over the Weasleys' house near Ottery Street, Catchpole."

Heart sinking lower than the lowest levels of hell, Draco clenched his jaw and after grabbing his cloak and wand from the desk, he stopped long enough to instruct Mrs. Randall to release each and every of _Malfoy Incorporated_'s employees from their work immediately, including herself, he rushed out of the office. His stomach was only lamenting a single thing on his way out - almost as an afterthought - that if things should go terribly wrong tonight he would only have had the pleasure of Ginny's lips thrice in the entirety of his wretched existence.

--------------------------------

The rhythmic thundering of distant war drums pulsed deafeningly in his ears. When Ron finally spotted the robed figures making their way across the fields, towards the pond, he plummeted towards the house with speed he hadn't had to achieve in years. Slamming the door behind himself, he calculated that he had approximately eight minutes until the Death Eaters reached the house and immediately felt his mind begin to reel with images of upcoming doom. He had counted at least six of them on the horizon and Merlin only knew how many more had escaped his trained sight.

He wordlessly ushered his mother into the living room and threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, about to send her away to keep her safe, and staying put himself in an attempt to preserve the family grounds. Ignoring his mother's loud and rowdy protests, he watched as the flames spurred green and was about to aid her in, when his attention was drawn to the bottomless blackness at their feet instead of the shimmering glimpses of various outlets through the hearth.

Gripping his mother's arm and drawing her away just when she sufficed to take a reluctant step in, he cast a quick spell to close the Floo connection and headed out of the living room, pulling her along and absently speaking over his shoulder.

"They cut the Floo connection," he stated plainly, pushing away the horrendous images of the possible future if Molly had indeed stepped into the fire.

They reached the stairs and Ron spun around, holding his mother's hands tightly with his own and thwarting any other objections that were about to leave her mouth. He spoke calmly yet sternly, knowing from years of wretched experience that panicking would do no one any good.

"Listen, Mum, and listen close, because I won't have the time to repeat myself. You are getting out of here now - _listen_! - I need you to leave immediately; there is no room for discussion. Head upstairs to my old bedroom, stay as far from the window as possible, duck in you have to, just make sure they don't see you. My old Comet should be in the closet - yes, Mum, I _am_ saying that! The moment you see the Death Eaters enter the house, you fly - _yes,_ Mother, _fly_! Stop it, I'm not joking! Fly to the Lovegood's and contact Dad. Make sure he knows what's going on. Contact someone from the Order or the Ministry and make them send a taskforce over. Do you hear me? Are you listening? Good, now upstairs. Up! _Now_!"

He fixed her with a glare when she didn't budge, then bent down to quickly peck her on the cheek and ushered her upstairs, warning her to not stay and get away as soon as possible. She was not to worry for him, he knew what he was doing — it was his bloody job, for Merlin's sake!

When a sobbing Molly finally scampered upstairs, Ron exhaled loudly and glanced at his watch. Time was rushing by and now he had to think up what to do with the hordes of Death Eaters attacking the house. He was by himself, there were at least six of them, most probably more, but that really didn't make any difference. – This would certainly be one hell of an interesting evening. It would provide him the much necessary live-practice he'd neglected for years.

_Harry had kidnapped Ginny_, the thought came rushing in, reminding the already anxious wizard of his even more unfortunate situation. Well, at least she was away from the Death Eaters, and though Ron was no longer able to trust Harry with his sister's life, he still considered the former hero the lesser of two evils.

Deciding that he had lamented long enough, Ron dashed back into the living room and grabbed the small pot that contained the remains of their Floo powder. Glancing inside, he decided that it would have to do and hurried to the kitchen and from there outside. In the garden he chanced a glance at the horizon, this time taking the opportunity to count eleven figures approaching the pond rapidly on brooms.

Sinking onto his knees behind the biggest rose bush in the garden, he glanced upwards, his eyes searching the window of his childhood bedroom and upon not seeing a silhouette of his mother, hoped she would not get struck by a burst of Gryffindor bravery - or stupidity, in this particular case. Once those thoughts settled and others urged him to hurry up, he looked down, fixing a long hard look on the dug hole in the freshly frozen soil.

Flexing his free fist in preparation for the numbing coldness, he whispered a spell prodding the soil with his wand, and finally plunged a hand into the ground up to his elbow. There, after some fidgeting and a lot of foreign squeals and indignant bites, he finally caught a hold of something's foot and dragged it up into the air. The small, potato-like creature squealed somewhat abhorrently, flinging his tiny fists in rage and trembling violently in the cold November air.

Ron fixed it with a disgusted glare, grimacing distastefully at the creature before opening his mouth to speak. Language had been one of the choice courses in Hit Wizarding training and Ron was talked into taking it by Hermione, who cooed and pranced about the rare opportunity speaking different languages gave him, being able to communicate with more people and expand his social circles. The course turned out to be for 'Creature Languages' in the end, and though Hermione was slightly disappointed, Ron was actually thrilled, for during the studies, he learned several very valuable languages - such as the Veelas' singing and the Merpeople's screeching - that saved his life more than once. Squealing was never his strongest side, but the most helpful of phrases that he was able to memorize; he sure put to good use.

"Death Eaters' attack. Help or die. Stop by any means. Tell the others." He was always amused by the fact that the squeal for 'Death Eater' oddly resembled the squeal for 'Snail-eating doody-face'.

Ron caught the surprised whistle of said creature for being talked to in his own tongue by one of the humans, and deciding he got the necessary attention he unceremoniously dropped the unfortunate creature onto the ground. A few juicy cuss words fluttered out of gnome, out of instinct, before he caught himself and nodded begrudgingly, diving into the cavern once again.

Ron puffed out a breath of air, hoping the little guy would actually keep his nodded affirmation. Garden gnomes weren't the brightest of creatures and were justly considered as general pests, but if asked nicely and given simple instructions, they were known to come through on some occasions. Ron's instructions were pretty simple, even if the 'help or die' bit stretched the border of niceness a little, and he wasn't in the position to be picky regarding his allies at the moment.

So, keeping behind the abundant shrubbery, Ron cast a Shadowing Charm on himself, slinking as unnoticeably as possible out of the garden and towards the mostly bare outskirts of the ominous forest looming over the west side of the Burrow. He ran through the overly familiar trees with the ease of an adept soldier, keeping his figure as low as speed allowed, and hidden behind the trunks from unsolicited eyes. Though the Shadowing Charm obscured him from any accidental peripheral vision, it was very dangerous to underestimate the opponents - especially when heavily outnumbered - and so every precaution needed to be taken.

Finally arriving approximately halfway to the pond, Ron glanced again at the Floo powder in the small pot and drew his wand.

"_Ingemino_," Ron whispered, pointing the tip of his wand into the pot, and watched as the amount of the powder within doubled. The spell wouldn't hold for long, but he needn't time, he needed the quantity.

Placing the pot down, he paused suddenly, trying to remember a Spreading Spell that was coursing through his mind just a moment ago. Coming blank, his eyes snapped to the pond. He was rapidly running out of time; the black robed figures were almost at the end of the pond and would reach him sooner than anticipated.

Cursing loudly, he glared at the pot, willing it to float by itself into the air, when a thought flashed by him and he cast the spell immediately. "_Wingardium Laviosa_," he muttered, levitating the pot into the air and then, casting an uncertain glance at the approaching Death Eater, sent it flying across the length of their path, spreading the silverfish powder all over the field. The sudden flying object that wheezed through the air drew inadvertent attention, however was quickly disregarded as the attackers drew nearer.

Dropping the pot behind some bush on the other side of the field, Ron drew one last calm breath, steeling himself for the battle. Recasting the Shadowing Charm, he rushed forward through the trees, reaching his approximate destination just as the Death Eaters flew over the pond and into the fields.

"_Reverto Aqua_!" Ron called out, his wand fixated on the tranquil waters of the pond. Suddenly, the calm surface began rippling and spinning, growing in velocity with every passing moment and every panicked shout of the Death Eaters above. Water started swirling, roaring, and rising ominously as the wizards on brooms scurried away from its surface, screaming commands at each other to detect the source of the spell and hex it down. But none noticed one single moving shadow among the hordes of tree trunks, already making his swift his way back to the spread Floo powder.

Ron glanced back only for a moment as he passed the silvery coat of dew-like droplets on the evening grass blades. A humongous snake-like vortex had spurred out of the waters, attacking and dragging back and below those who were at its reach. Jets of black, green and red were sent at the waters as some panicked and tried to retrieve their drowning companions, but all was in vain. Finally, Ron saw someone barking orders with numerous frantic hand gestures, commanding to leave the drowning and proceed onwards. When the dark wizards returned to their paths, wands drawn and at the ready, Ron caught the sight of four struggling figures captured within the watery swirling.

_Four down, seven to go, _Ron reminded himself cheerfully, sprinting onwards through the trees. He needed to be as close to the Burrow as possible after casting the next spell, because then the advantage of the trees would be lost and he'd have to make a mad dash towards the house, preferably without being singed by any curses shouted in his wake, and arriving before the Death Eaters.

Suddenly snapping out of future planning, Ron skidded to a stop at the very end of the trees, whirling to look at the nearing attackers, and saw that he almost missed his widow of opportunity. Thrusting his wand into the direction of the silvery plain visible only to him by the reflective moonlight, and shouted, "_Incendio_!"

Suddenly the dew-covered strip of grass burst into towers of brightly blazing green flames, engulfing three unsuspecting Death Eaters that came tumbling over their broomsticks right into the fire before they could stop or divert the brooms. Two, drawn by the separated gravity pull within of the magical combustion, were hauled downwards violently, plummeted into the bottomless abysses of the unconnected Floo outlet. One of the others fished the third one out, without his broom, by casting a quick Levitating Spell.

Ron heard an enraged bellow from the same wizard who gestured to leave the others behind, and drew a quick conclusion that he was the leader of this little party. Quickly deciding against idleness, Ron exhaled sharply, and after a short prayer to whoever was listening while the Death Eaters were still bickering over the Floo flames, burst from his more than convenient hiding place into the open planes before the Burrow's garden.

He caught the sound of a Flame Freezing Charm being cast behind him and almost immediately a loud shout pierced through the night air. "There! Shadow Spell! _Get him_!"

Within an instant the air about him started hissing and sizzling with bright jets of lethal sparks, inanimate projectiles and _Stupefying_ curses. A Reductor Curse caught his back by surprise, sending him barreling a good couple of feet through the air. Seeing it as a welcomed nudge, he scampered back to his feet, ignoring the searing pain just between his shoulder blades, and shot a Confundus Charm at one of the flyers, causing him to reverse his broom and fly into the other direction. He successfully avoided the retaliatory Cruciatus Curse by diving behind a rogue shrub. Toiling to breathe, Ron heard another Reductor Curse being hurled at his hiding place and immediately scurried away before the bush exploded on his head. Gripping his wand, he shot an Avis Charm over his shoulders, unable to stifle a burst of laughter when a flock of birds attacked the same unfortunate Death Eater who had just been un-Confunded by his companions.

Tripping over his feet a couple of times, with lethal hexes being flung at him, Ron cursed once and over again the Ministry's laws, that prevented the use of curses to harm any of the culprits in self-defense, even for its own Officials. He had no choice but to rely on the childish hexes and jinxes that were efficient against Slytherin cronies in school, but were proving to be most unhelpful in the present situation.

Ron ducked and dived behind the sparse shrubbery, casting and recasting Shield Charms, and shooting hexes back when the opportunity allowed. However the attackers were gaining speed, while he was wasting energy and for a moment a voice inside his mind began berating him that he should've thought of a better plan, instead of practically prancing before them with a target sign on his back. The voice had an odd resemblance to a certain Slytherin girl who once ridiculed him, almost good-naturedly, regarding his chosen career, and the brief remembrance gave him a new burst of strength. Heaving loudly, he scampered to his feet from behind yet another bush and burst into the garden, throwing a random Impedimenta Spell at the flying attackers, successfully rendered some broomless and others simply hindered.

Dashing across the more tended lawn, Ron was pleasantly surprised to find a garden gnome starting his way with all the willingness of a rabid hippogriff and fierceness of a maddened mosquito. The little creature was however yanked back into its hiding under the bush and squealed at to wait by the same potato-looking gnome Ron fished from under the rosebush some time ago. His eyes caught sight of at least three dozen of small creatures, eager to inflict as much damage as possible on whomever was in their reach. As he burst into the kitchen with an amused smile on his face, Ron locked the door behind him.

From his calculations, he now had five Death Eaters about to enter the house if the gnomes were unsuccessful and he was just fresh out of schemes. Well, if he isn't permitted to cause direct harm to the guilty party by his wand, he had absolutely every right to cast spells on other objects to cause harm to the offenders.

_Merlin bless bureaucracy,_ Ron chimed to himself and grabbed his mother's cleaver from the knife-stand. Scurrying out of the kitchen, he made a straight line to the stairs, dropping his tired body behind the banister.

Breathing heavily, his eyes closed for a moment of alleged peace and he caught the sound of discarded broomsticks being tossed onto the crisp cool grass. Some orders were barked out, but he couldn't grasp the actual words. Squeezing his eyes for a moment and gulping hard, he leaned to peer at the kitchen's door, cleaver and the wand at the ready.

Once again reclaiming the hope of his mother doing as was ordered and leaving immediately when the wizards enter the house, Ron tried to think up what he was going to do next. Yes, he had the advantage of knowing every crook and nanny of this structure, however they had the advantages of numbers and no inhibitions. He would head upstairs. Perhaps he could send some of the Death Eaters into Fred and George's room, to stumbled on some malfunctioning, outdated, or hopefully lethal pranks they've forgotten about years ago. Their room still smelled prominently of gunpowder and singed hair, and not a single human being was able to stand it for more than a whiff, but the perpetrators themselves.

There was the ghoul in the attic, but Ron never did muster the art of ghoulish moaning and rattling, so communication was impossible. Not to mention that the aberration probably wouldn't cooperate after the years of childish pranks and games he had pulled on the creature with his twin brothers two decades ago.

His thoughts and planning were suddenly interrupted by another wave of frantic cries of pain piercing through the air, as the miniature army of vicious ankle-biters attacked the robed wizards, digging tiny experienced teeth into their skin, clawing their jubilated way up the towering figures and diving into the robes, scratching, biting, pinching, gnashing any piece of flesh that came under their tiny jagged canines and excited fingers. Cuss words and curses then drowned the pained shouts, as the gnomes were either _Stupefied_ or sent hurling into the walls and thorny bushes with pitched howls of protest, and thus their attack sorely thwarted. Soon enough the same barking voice of their leader ordered to leave one of them - Peterson - and bust the door. The continuous successful lines of defense were beginning to irritate him and it was time for them to finish what they came for then leave. Ron heard the sound of a muffled protest against leaving another one of their ranks behind - _Newbie_, he guessed - but there was a hissing threat and the protests weren't uttered again.

Two spells were hurled at the kitchen door, one after the other, the second one flinging the door open with such fierceness that the thin barrier was sent halfway off its hinges. Three figures came stumbling in - wands drawn in tight grips, black robes billowing about them from the outside winds, white bleak masks covering their sneering faces, showing only pairs of hateful eyes glaring at the various drawers and kitchen utensils. The leader himself joined them only a moment later, his stride strong and severe, his mask giving him a beguilingly vapid expression, and a pair of jade green eyes piercing through the air around him.

Ron caught his breath, leaning back inconspicuously when the leader began barking orders once again - scan the house, leaving nothing in its place, find the people and burn the site down. Just when the three others started towards the door, something caught the Death Eaters attention outside, their heads instantly snapping to the skies as something flashed by above them.

Ron sighed in relief, thanking Merlin his mother was now out of the house and on her way to safety, when something was screamed at the Death Eater closest to the entrance. He was pushed, then kicked, out of the door, sent to retrieve the escaping person and his broom, but a furious shriek of, "_Stupefy_, you runt!" was uttered somewhere above him, sending him to slump onto the grubby lawn, motionless. Instantly hordes of tiny potato-like creatures, who had tired from the already unconscious Peterson, swarmed his limp body as well, biting and scratching furiously, all the while squealing excitedly every time someone managed to draw blood.

The leader cussed loudly, sending a Furnunculus curse at the _Stupefied_ novice. When another Death Eater made a move towards the door to follow the fugitive, he yanked him back into the kitchen, glaring daggers at the retreating broom.

"Forget about it!" He barked at the others. "Just get in! We've wasted enough time as it is, damn it!"

Ron thought the voice familiar, but he couldn't be sure as part of his mind was muffled by the painful pounding in his ears, and the other part was too frantic to concentrate. Seeing as the Death Eaters were about to move his way, Ron took a deep breath, grateful for the momentary intermission, and tossed the cleaver into the air, suspending it with a quick charm and sending it hurling it through the narrow outlet of the kitchen's door and straight into one of the Death Eaters.

Somewhere between the toss and the charm, however, his Gryffindor conscience surged through, and the fatally accurate aim attained a slightly lopsided slant. So instead of imbedding into the Death Eater's chest, it simply smacked him smartly over his head, followed by two _Stupefying_ curses hurled that way - the first hitting its target, while the second one was absorbed by the Shield Charm - which drew attention to Ron's whereabouts.

And so with two Death Eaters left standing, Ron inwardly congratulated himself for not dying thus far. He sprung upwards, hauling himself up the banister, when the two turned to glare in his direction and spotted the violent shade of copper peeking at them through the handrail. Instantly, in his wake, a curse was flung at him, swishing passed his burning ears, but in the end crashing into the opposite wall. Taking three or four steps at a time, he attempted aiming in such a meandrous motion, but was hapless with his targets, which managed to avoid his efforts with two perfectly performed Hindering Jinxes.

Aiming a third time while trying to skip an additional squeaking step out of a sheer habit, Ron tripped, missing his footing, and scrambled to regain it. However the momentary imperfection allowed one of the Death Eaters a wonderful opportunity and an immediate Moriorius Curse was hurled his way, smartly hitting the outer side of his right thigh. Ron cried out in pain, feeling the hex begin to seep its way through his robes, the heavy coating of his jeans, and finally reaching the desired flesh. Within moments it spread and submerged beneath Ron's skin, and the horrid smell of fresh decay invaded his senses.

Trying to ignore the pain and the disgusting sensation of self-decay, Ron tried hurling another jinx at the leering Death Eaters, but it was easily averted with a simple spell as the wizards resumed their brisk ascent towards the injured Hit Wizard. Ron growled in desperation, passing right by the twins' room in his frenzy to keep moving without even noticing it or having time or use in going back. _This is it_, he mused to himself. There were no other ways out of the house - despite the numerous times he begged his mother to install a secret passage when he was a child - there was no one to rely on for help, because Molly probably just reached the Lovegood's and it would take a while to inform the necessary forces and gather the people. So Ron was all entirely on his own. Decaying.

Grimacing in aversion, Ron proceeded blindly to the attic, as fast and as far away as he could manage in the confinement of the Burrow and the wobbliness of his hexed leg. The Death Eaters were just a flight of stairs below him and approaching rapidly when he yanked a chain, hanging seemingly out of nowhere. A small ladder descended before him, leading up into the attic. Moans and groans of protest greeted the crude intrusion, followed by loud rattling of tin dishes against the old rusted pipes. Ignoring the ghoul's input on the situation, Ron tried to breathe deeply, his breath coming out in wheezing rasps as the poison of the Decaying Curse sent tendrils of its wretched magic to spin throughout his body, and roughly lugged himself upwards.

A scuttling sound just behind his back, informed Ron that the attackers were nearer than he hoped, and were indeed closing in on him. Pushing through the raw spears of pain flushing up his body with white scorching heat and the weakening toxin oozing sluggishly up his bloodstream, Ron braced every last ounce of strength he possessed and heaved himself up, launching into the attic just as someone made a grab at his foot. He clawed his way away from the opening, dragging his almost unconscious body to the nearest trunk and trying to hide behind it, but only succeeding in reaching its side and losing the grip on his wand in his frantic attempts to get away.

A tin cup came whistling over his head as the dissatisfied ghoul decided to express his irritation physically. Luckily, it passed a right over him, dropping squarely on one of the Death Eaters heads as he made his way up the ladder and into the attic. The Death Eater cussed and muttered foul declarations regarding the ghoul's mother and the entire feminine side of his family, which enraged the ghoul beyond any undead aptitude. When the wizard finally heaved himself up to stand on the heavy dust-coated floor of the mostly deserted attic, he was greeted by swarms of old tattered books, rusted utensils, extremely violent pieces of ancient set of Wizarding Chess, and a well-preserved collection of pet-rocks Ron had forgotten he'd hidden here, away from the twins' prying eyes.

Screaming in surprise and batting away the various attacking objects, the Death Eater tried to duck and move away from the throngs of possessed items trying to beat him to death. He tried to charm the objects away, but the frantic flailing of his arms and the constant tripping over his own feet, sent his curses to rebound or to be absorbed by the dark shadowy walls. One curse reverberated off the wall and went hurling into the surprised leader, freezing him in his stance for the time being.

When the ghoul was finally amused out of its senses, it flung a grimy, ragged quilt over the offender, obscuring the last traces of his vision with the multiple-colored fabric, and continued to laugh its droning amusement. The hysterical wizard released another terrified scream and in his attempt to regain his eyesight, tripped over his own feet, immediately losing his balance, and toppling out the large circular window onto the untended bushes from the six stories below.

Ron stared through his blurry vision, unable to believe the streak of sheer dumb luck that had befallen him this evening. He tried to gulp down the needling pain in his parched throat, but was gratified only with more pain. Cringing, he licked his lips absently and awkwardly flipped himself onto his back, propping himself against the trunk in an odd angle. His eyes searched the floor for his wand and he discovered it lying in a pile of discarded books and rusty kitchen utensils three feet away from him.

Not knowing how long would the Freezing Jinx last on the final standing Death Eater and unwilling to trust the spells and skill of yet another Death Eater, Ron groaned loudly and rolled himself back onto his stomach. Cursing vapidly under his breath, he reached forward, finding the wand too far away. Clutching at a loose floorboard, he dragged himself inch-by-inch, sending dust laden clouds to rise and reluctantly resettle around him. Finally his fingers clasped around the smooth wooden surface of his trusty wand and Ron allowed himself a sigh of relief, resting his forehead onto the filth-coated floor.

Suddenly pain and the sound of crunching bones brought him back to hopeless reality, and his head snapped up to the sight of a leather black boot standing on his outstretched hand. Its pressure increasing excruciatingly as the owner of said boot pressed harder and harder on the feebly gripping fingers. Ron glared menacingly up at the bleakly white mask, willing the Death Eater to spontaneously combust under his strenuous look, but failing miserably. His mask only shifted subtly as the features beneath it broke into a smirk.

"What is it they say? 'Pop… goes the weasel'?" The Death Eater mocked sardonically, his voice as cool and as frigid as any respectful Slytherin would be. The mask on his face shifted again, this time his lips curving into a conceited hidden grin, and the green in his eyes flashed with some maniacal fire as he stomped on Ron's hand, finally breaking the weak grip, and raised his own wand to the redhead's head.

"A Death Eater using trite Muggle clichés…" A sudden drawl resounded in the messy room. "Please, Brooks, spare me the blasphemous display."

Ron followed the averted glare of his attacker and was greeted by the sight of a pristinely pressed Draco Malfoy, hovering inches above the dusted floors.

Two separate flashes suddenly plummeted out of each wand, colliding and ricocheting against each other and the nearest walls. Ron ducked as low as his already sprawled position allowed it when seething sparks burst just over his head, murmuring silent incoherent prayers under his breath. When he finally dared to look up, he found a proudly towering Malfoy beginning to crouch beside him and a _Stupefied_ Death Eater collapsing inertly onto the floor.

"Bloody Merlin, Malfoy," the redhead rasped, his voice and vision starting to fritter away into the darkness. "I don't think I've ever been so glad to see your ratty face."

He stayed conscious long enough to see a small smirk appear on Malfoy's face, just before his world went black and the only thing he was able to be aware of was his own decaying flesh.

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Loud screeches recoiled around Ginny as her body was flung with great ferocity through the transporting magical whirlpool of winds around her. Her mouth gaped for air, trying to heave a lungful of the needed oxygen, but the attempt was ruthlessly thwarted by the vicious currents, leaving her gasping and suffocating.

She continued gaping at the forceful airstreams roaring around her, whisking her long crimson tresses out of the loose confines of their bun and sending them to flap around her neck and face. She would've screamed, but with the fear of her lungs combusting within the constraint of her own ribcage, she decided against it. The gusts of rimy air continuously slapped her across every inch of her bare skin, callously nipping and biting at the tips of her fingers, nose, and desperately parted lips.

The abominable tugging sensation from behind her navel sent her stomach into churning fits, as it grew stronger and tighter, reaching it's culmination with a painful jolt Ginny was sure would rip her belly apart. When the pulling subsided, so did the winds around her, and she sensed her body slowly beginning its descent towards the unknown destination. Still unable to heave a breath, she dejectedly stopped struggling at last and braced herself for a hard impact.

Mere moments later Ginny landed squarely on her back, promptly bracing her knees to her chest and rolling to her side to soften the shock. A loud groan escaped her lips as she kept her eyes squeezed shut and her mind ignorantly bleak. Her body took a moment to check and recheck all the, thankfully, present and functioning organs. For a moment she was sure she would pass out, waking up days later at the Hospital Wing in Hogwarts, complaining about Harry's grueling Quidditch practice timetable.

However the second that thought appeared in her mind, accompanied by the tiny sound of a ring falling onto a hardwood floor, rattling languidly as it rotated on its rim, her hazel eyes snapped open. While her vision took its time to refocus, Ginny became painfully aware of the continuous sickening churning of her stomach, this time for a completely different reason, and the manic beating of her heart, giving to her the impression of a rabid hummingbird being caught within her own chest.

She heard approaching footsteps just behind her and on instinct abandoned her fetal position in favor of panicked scampering, retreating as far away from the source of said sounds as possible. However, with her vision still blurry, she accidentally reared into some stand, sending something to tumble over her back and crashing onto the floor.

She froze at the sound of soft chuckling and stared forward, her eyes finally seeing her surroundings in all its grimy and forsaken glory. There was no time or desire to inspect her whereabouts though, because at the same moment, Ginny became apprehensively aware of the green-eyed wizard towering a few paces away from her, his jet-black hair resting in an unruly mess atop of his proudly held head, partially hiding a jaggedly shaped scar.

Harry Potter chuckled once again at the sight of pure horror in her doe-like eyes, and casually crouched down where she laid. After a moment of a bemused inspection of the floor before him, he reached towards the small silver band and picked it up, carefully wiping it with edge of his robes. Placing a soft reverent kiss on the face of the wedding ring, Harry glanced at Ginny once again with a small smile upon his lips, and slipped back it onto his finger.

"I was beginning to fear you wouldn't come," he said frankly, heaving himself to his feet. He shot her one of those notorious grins that used to earn him forgiveness over the most blasphemous of mistakes, his coy charm practically shining with sheepishness.

Ginny stared in brute fear and blunt disbelief at his casual antics, unable to find any words to say. Not that any words would've left her throat, that all of a sudden was drier than the desert's sands, and she sufficed with another attempt of scurrying away from her estranged husband, which was once again rewarded with laughter.

"Come, Ginevra, don't be ridiculous." Harry chuckled, watching the crouching figure of his wife - terrified, wandless, and utterly miserable. "There's nowhere to crawl to, love. No one will hear you here and there is no way you will be able to leave. So just… come, come here."

At the sight of Harry extending his arms in the most endearing of ways, urging her to grace him with a warm embrace, Ginny felt her heart sink into the gutters of her stomach. She stared at the wizard before her, confounded, paralyzed with fear and absolutely at loss. To witness this almost charming greeting being spoken by the new, brutal Harry was sickening. So different from the man she once found irresistible. Now there was some underhanded and sadistic fire in his eyes, some maniacal undertone she never found agreeable and never wanted to see within close radius of herself ever in her entire life.

Finally heaving herself to her feet, while trying to back further away from Harry, Ginny allowed her stare to slip away from him for a moment as she scanned the room in search of a way out. There were several windows to her right, however they were securely boarded. The room was fairly sized, covered in thick layers of filth and grime that would've caused her mother a fit, and large, intricate webbing spread about the ceilings, corners, the sparse furniture and anything else that stood within its premises. The boards beneath her weight were creaky and there was an odd hollow echo, indicating she was most probably on the second floor of some building. The room was freezing with rogue gusts of air stabbing her every now and then from unpredictable directions, and if it weren't for the almost cheerful fire in the fireplace, Ginny would've been instantly frozen to death. There obviously were no Warming Charms on the walls of this structure, which probably specified that it was Muggle.

"Ginevra, you are grating on one of my last nerves, _love._" Harry suddenly pierced through her inspection, snapping her attention back to him. "Would you mind coming over and greeting your husband properly?"

Gulping against the aridness in her throat, Ginny continued to stare at him, not saying a word for fear of retching.

"What is wrong with you, damn it?" he barked, finally irritated by her less than perfect welcome. "I've worked hard on this Portkey and all the hassle of impersonating your ruddy aunt, so we could be close and you could come and visit me after I've left, and this is the 'thank you' I get? But no, I guess you wouldn't be glad to see me now that you've decided to _leave_ me? _Divorce_? What is this garbage, Ginevra? _Well_?"

An involuntary shudder ran down Ginny's spine at the sound of his hateful voice, but she was so flabbergasted, she couldn't reply.

_This isn't Harry_, she kept telling herself, no longer recognizing neither the man's speech nor his antics. _This isn't Harry_, she cried inwardly, hoping to banish the demons with the mere thought and find herself back at the Burrow, having a new nightmare, more horrible than those that have plagued her thus far.

Finally leveling her eyes with Harry's, she couldn't stay silent any longer. "H-- Harry, wh-- where have you been? Everybody's been so worried. Ron said you've missed work…"

She hated how weak her voice came out, not knowing who to blame - him or herself. Watching Harry stare at her for a while instead of replying, she couldn't help but wonder if it was all her fault for letting him act this way since the very unsuspecting beginning.

"I needed to get away," Harry said finally, his voice laced with a strained trace of negligence. "Needed to think of what my plans for the future would be now that I'm… well, me."

Ginny stared wide-eyed as the wizard chuckled for the fourth time, his voice undertaking an odd pitching tone. The laugh sent quivers down her spine, making the hair on the back of her neck to rise up uneasily, much like at the sound of sharp nails scraping the surface of a chalkboard. She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing everything to be done and over with, and almost instantly snapped them open again when her sense of uneasiness grew. Harry was glaring cold daggers at her.

"Are you thinking of that Malfoy runt?" he hissed in a low, blood-curling voice. "Don't bother. He shall join your parents soon enough."

The statement cracked her haze, making her level a stare at the wizard before her. "What do you mean? Join my parents where?" she demanded, receiving only an unsettling grin in response.

"All in due time, Ginevra," Harry replied, his voice almost cooing as he twirled the wedding band around his left ring finger. "Meanwhile, let me introduce you to the house."

Diffident and scared, Ginny allowed the subject to be dropped. At the mention of their whereabouts, she took another glance around the room and leveled him with a stare. "Wh-where are we?"

Harry smiled at the question indulgently and looked around the room himself with an almost fondness to his eyes, whiffing a lungful of the musty old air. "This, my darling, is my father's house."

Ginny's brows creased with confusion when she tried to recall Harry ever mentioning anything regarding some forsaken house that once belonged to his father. It couldn't have been the house in Godric's Hollow, which belonged to both his parents and had been thoroughly obliterated the night of their deaths. But… was she absolutely sure?

"I thought your parents' cottage in Godric's Hollow was torn down that night…"

Puzzlement crossed Harry's expression only for a briefly perceptible moment, before he smiled understandably and nodded. "Yes, James and Lily Potters' house was indeed destroyed," he affirmed her assumptions with an exaggerated patience, as if putting a great show of speaking to a dimwitted child. "But we are not in Godric's Hollow," he explained. "We're at my filthy Muggle father's house."

Ginny's continuous frown of confusion drew another disturbing grin from Harry and he continued with an apparent glee.

"We're at the Riddle Manor."


	20. Riddles Unfold

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**Author's Note:** I would like to express my sincerest gratitude to jandjsalmon and dragonsangel68 for their beta reading of this thing.

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**20 :: Riddle Unfolds**

The walls of the rickety structure rattled violently, as the sturdy body was repeatedly flung against them at the highest point of the building – the Burrow's attic. The man groaned loudly as he slid to the floor, his body throbbing from all the sprained muscles and fractured bones he bore within him. His black robes were tattered, torn, soaked with his own blood, and were hanging off of him, but what they stood for still fueled his mind like fetid darkness.

The blond man standing above looked down at the sprawled figure, his lips curled into a hateful sneer, but the obvious loathing did not bother the aching wizard in the least, and as he rolled onto his back and his mask fell off, it revealed a chiseled face smeared with dark layers of blood and adorned by a wide grin. A bark of laughter erupted from him, and he instantly doubled over, coughing more blood onto the wooden floor and inhaling clouds of dust.

At this sight, Draco couldn't help the deep snarl that broke through his throat and kicked the coughing man squarely in the stomach, not heeding the ghastly heaving sounds emanating from his lips. With grim satisfaction he listened to the Death Eater gasp, the air wheezing in and out along with loud gurgling noises.

"Malfoy, stop it! You'll kill him!"

Ron Weasley's voice barely pierced through the raging haze shrouding Draco's mind. He felt someone grab his arm, yanking him away from the writhing Death Eater as he just kept kicking.

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Draco sneered in return, yanking his arm out of Ron's grip and staggering away from the bloodied figure. He suddenly noticed he was panting, his heart was beating hard against his chest and his face was covered in an uncharacteristic sheen of perspiration. His hands and knees were shaking, and he was hoping against all odds that it wasn't as obvious to the redhead as it was to him.

His eyes slipped to the limp body clad in black robes on the floor, the pools of blood surrounding it and the quivering way in which its' air was dragged in, and he realized that it was practically impossible to miss his slip. He kept telling himself that there was no reason for such conspicuous demonstration of his own newly acquired weaknesses, but his hands were still shaking, and his breath was still shallow and refused to steady itself, and the sight of spilled blood only reminded him of other shades of red and other helplessness.

_Taken… No, I don't know where… Yes, Harry…_

"We'll deal with him later," the familiar voice pierced through the fog, trying to reach him again, wherever he was.

Draco raised his eyes, willing the dimness away from his eyes. What was happening to him? What was going on?

"We have to track down Ginny now," the voice carried on, grounding Draco to what was here and now. Her name running through his mind and his attention snapped back to their reality at once. "Merlin only knows where Harry took her and, as worried I am about this attack, I'm worried about her more."

_Attack… _ Draco's mind wheeled through the past hour – him receiving the word of the mark, arriving to find the place strewn with hurt or unconscious Death Eaters and Weasley struggling against the last remaining one, already sporting a patch of rotting flesh on him. Thank Merlin, he had dealt with the Decaying Curse once before and managed to counteract it before the corrosion reached the redhead's bones.

But his attacker… Tomas Brooks. Draco had a niggling thought that perhaps he should've realized this sooner. No self respecting Slytherin ever broke as easily as Brooks did that day in his office. A Death Eater on the other hand had little to do with self-respect. Under the fetters of subordination, only one could be respected, and that was the Master.

_How very inconvenient that Voldemort chose this exact moment to strike. And at the Burrow of all places. I would have sought out the ones who betrayed me first. This makes no sense…_

He leaned against a wall to catch a breath when a thought struck, timid and trepid

_Too much of a coincidence, but… the inconvenience of it makes perfect sense if… _

"Weasley… when was Ginny taken?" Draco spoke out, his voice hollow and almost rasping. He could barely hear his own words through the deafening pulsation in his ears as the blood pumped rapidly by.

"Just now, before the attack," Ron relented, worriedly watching his schooldays nemesis, while keeping the lying Death Eater in his peripheral vision. "The Portkey's magic is still fresh in her room. Bollocks, I can't believe how poorly timed this attack is."

"Or perhaps perfectly timed," Draco's voice rose, barely grazing over the sound of a whisper.

A sudden sound of soft chuckling sounded like a crude contrast in the dark. The eyes of both wizards were drawn to the figure lying limply on the floor as it stirred and slowly, achingly heaved itself into a seated position.

"Pathetic," Brooks rasped out and spat some blood onto the floor. "You two are pathetic filthy blood traitors. Your veins are filled with mud instead of magic."

"Shut up, Brooks," Ron barked, pulling his wand out to cast a _Stupefy _on him.

Draco made a motion to still him and instead of hexing the black-haired wizard, walked closer to him, crouching down to his eye level. "Wasn't it, Brooks? The attack was perfectly timed, wasn't it? You were summoned two hours ago, but were given the word to attack only now, weren't you?"

Brooks' bleeding face broke into a smile, widened slightly and, soon enough, he was chuckling heartily in front of them, mirth spilling off him in giddy gales. Amusement shone in his eyes as he evened Draco's narrowing gaze with one of complete and joyous delight.

"Wait, what?" Ron demanded, his mind trying to gather a puzzle with too many missing or misfitting pieces. "But why would Voldemort do this to aid Harry—" His eyes widened subtly, staring flatly at the two before him on the floor. "No, it can't be… _Voldemort_ got Ginny?"

Brooks dissolved in another wave of laughter, and this time Draco couldn't bear to face it. When the Death Eater raised his hand to wipe away tears of glee, his head snapped to the side with the force of a backhanded blow served by the Malfoy heir.

"Ron!" A dreadful call was carried upstairs through the musty silence. "Ron, where are you?"

A moment later the lanky figure of Arthur Weasley peeked into the attic from the trapdoor in its floor, and at the sight of his son, alive and well, he sighed in relief. "Oh, thank goodness you're all right!" Arthur exclaimed shakily, heaving himself upwards into the unused room. "Your mother was beside herself with worry when she contacted me, but I see you've taken care of the Death Eaters. Draco." He eyed the blond wizard with last crumbling traces of reservation and finally allowed himself to feel relieved on his behalf as well. "What are you doing here?"

"Word of the mark travels fast, Mr. Weasley," Draco replied evenly, taking a step away from the moaning Death Eater. "I came as soon as I heard."

"In the nick of time too… saved my life," Ron added almost begrudgingly before turning to his father again. "Where's Mom? Is she all right?"

"She is at Lovegood's and, yes, she's fine. Shaken, though. I told her to stay there until the Ministry arrives. What happened here? Where's Ginny?"

Ron paused, the gnawing in his heart resuming once again. "They attacked out of the blue from the southern board, right— right after I've discovered Gin was taken."

"Taken?" Arthur visibly paled before their eyes, and a small tremor took hold of his hands. "Taken where? By whom?"

At the sight of Ron clenching his fists, Draco cleared his throat and spoke up, his voice steely and cold. "It appears to be by either Harry or Voldemort. We don't know where."

"What?" the Weasley patriarch rasped out. "How—how did this happen?"

"I found remnants of Portkey magic in her room," Ron said, his stare slipping away from his father's horrified expression. "She was gone by the time I got there."

"Oh no," Arthur breathed out and staggered aback. His legs hit a chest and he slumped down heavily, sitting atop its lid, incapable of supporting the weight of his own body any longer. Eyes filled with vivid fright, Arthur drew in a shaky breath and buried his face in his hands, his fingers curling into claws.

Terror gripping his own heart, Draco averted his gaze away from the older man as the first sob shattered his crumbling composure. His chest constricted and fists clenched on their own accord, and the sound of quiet sniggering overwhelmed him with the desire to smash Brooks' skull against a wall.

"It's all my fault," Arthur lamented pitifully, gripping at his face and futilely trying to quell the despair.

The maddening laughter in the background grew louder, this time only slightly muffled by the nasal sound of a broken nose. "It's no wonder the Dark Lord keeps prevailing with idiots like you leading the counter attack."

"Your Master is nothing but a deranged being of no value or power," Arthur spat furiously, his brimming eyes snapping to the bloodied wizard.

"You have no idea how vast his powers are," prattled Tomas Brooks while cradling his nose and the side of his face. The left cheekbone appeared to be broken as well. "All you do is underrate him, diminish his image in your minds, so you won't be rendered useless at the mere thought of him. But you are _fools_! He is great. He is powerful and inescapable! And no enemy of his has remained unpunished. Not even that runt of a hero you worshipped so much!"

"Harry," Ron whispered, his stomach suddenly lurching with nausea.

"Yes," Tomas sneered, his face a repulsive caricature of its own previous handsomeness. "His punishment was the greatest. Such supremacy, such ingenuity, such cruelty I've never witnessed."

"Is Harry dead?" Ron demanded, taking a step towards him.

"I'm not sure 'death' is the right epithet, but let me assure you, he is in a place of great helplessness," Brooks chuckled again, wiping a trickling droplet of blood from the side of his mouth. "And thanks to my Lord, he will remain there forever."

"Be careful, you might piss yourself with excitement," Draco sneered, nipping the conversation that would lead them nowhere productive in the bud. "Now stop with the horseshit and spew what's going on already. What does Voldemort want Ginny for?"

The distorted face broke into an irate snarl as the black-haired wizard spoke again. "He is bound by magic to the little bitch." And then, to spite the present, added, "And every Lord must have a Lady."

"_NO_!" Arthur exclaimed, launching at the beaten Brooks with furious, clenched fists and raging fire in his red-rimmed eyes.

Draco yanked the older wizard and swung him around, sitting him back down onto the chest and pinning him down with a stare. Ron, meanwhile, drew his wand and already bore a lethal curse on his quivering lips.

"Over my dead body," he hissed. The detestation in his eyes clearly showed enough of his intentions to make Brooks recoil in anticipation of the strike.

However, knowing very well the burden of an Unforgivable, Draco couldn't allow the stupid Weasley to bear it too. He grabbed his hand and plucked the wand out of the other man's hand, tightening his grip when he was greeted with resistance. Their eyes locked for a moment – blue against grey, both raging irately against the other, both too stubborn to back down. But the blue was brimming with silver and hazing right before his eyes, and Draco could not bear the sight of it, so he allowed his gaze to slip.

He looked at the still cowering Brooks and something hissed inside of him. He was growing tired of this, tired of the game and the maniacal laughing, and it had to end now.

"Tell us what is going on or I will personally see to it that they won't find enough body parts to identify you."

The fear of impending death lifted for the moment, and Brooks allowed himself another grin as he evened Draco with a daring gaze. "You don't have enough magic in your soiled blood or enough hatred in that heart of yours."

"I am a Malfoy, you fool," Draco uttered calmly, leaning closer to the other wizard.

His eyes shone with something incensed, something horrid, something completely impossible. The ancient blood within his veins boiled at the sight of such foolhardy arrogance in a state of obvious defeat. His stomach churned with disgust at the distant memories of enforced obedience and instilled sense of fear. He had broken free of that warped reign over and over again – first from under his Father and then from under his Father's Lord - only to encounter it in front of him so many years later.

He was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of breaking within him. He made the right bleeding choices, his insides shrieked in despair. He fought on the right side, he worked hard and never gave up, he made his mistakes and he had paid for them in earnest. And now, just when he allowed himself to assume some calm was being bestowed upon him, he had to face this? Face this… this… this demon of subordination he thought he had banished forever?

His jaws clenched again and nostrils flared. How much longer was he to endure these plotlines the Fates kept weaving into his life? How much longer would he have to fight his past? He was growing tired of it. No, he was simply becoming angered by it. Angered beyond description.

Brooks' eyes suddenly widened subtly, and whatever color remained beneath the bloodstained cheeks had drained momentarily at the sight of something primal blazing through Draco's eyes. He shifted under the pinning glare, and it was all he could do not to recoil from the livid silver searing holes within his skin.

Finally, his right eye twitched and the smile frittered a little. "There's nothing you can do now," he bristled, trying to distance himself away from the maddened Malfoy. "He was anchored to that body by Fates. Even if you tried, you could never overcome him."

"What body?" asked Ron, his lips curling into a sneer. "Another reptilian abomination?"

Brooks' eyes fluttered from Draco to Ron, and it was obvious his lips were struggling to keep the sickening smile on his face. "You'll see soon enough," he said evenly to Ron, before turning back to Draco. "You will be the first one he comes after once she is secured by his side. You, Draco Malfoy, the Traitor."

"There were so many of us who foresaw Voldemort's defeat that I hardly believe I should be referred to as '_The_ Traitor'," he replied evenly, his voice almost conversational even though his face remained stony.

"You have enraged the Lord, Malfoy, with your foolish interfering. And now that the Potter brat no longer portrays a problem, you will suffer."

"Brat?" Arthur suddenly echoed from his perch. His lips parted and his eyes seemed to quiver. "Harry… Can it?" He frowned a little, his forehead creasing in dreadful concern. Then, when something seemed to dawn on the haggard mind of the older Weasley, his eyes widened wildly as he sought out the Death Eater in an almost deranged rage.

"No, but it's impossible!" he shouted at Brooks, leaping to his side and grabbing onto the labels of his robes. "Tell me! Tell me it's impossible!" His shaking of the limp body was only retaliated with some renewed chuckling.

"Perhaps you're not as dimwitted as you seem, Weasley." Brooks laughed harder, and the older wizard's fears were confirmed by the maniacal gales of joy.

"Dad?" Ron said quietly, seeing his father nearing an edge. "Dad, what is it?"

"Harry…" Arthur mumbled, slumping onto the floor beside the sniggering Death Eater. "Voldemort…"

"What is it?" Draco prodded, not at all feeling comfortable with the close proximity Arthur allowed himself to the beaten Brooks. However, his disturbed thoughts were thwarted by what was uttered next by the senior Weasley.

"Voldemort's new body… is Harry," he croaked, his eyes – almost defeated – focused on Brooks again. "Isn't it? Voldemort's new vessel is Harry…"

Yet another bark of laughter escaped from the broken face. "Yes! Quite accurate, I have to say. Vessel." He smirked to himself, cherishing the word on his lips. "That is the brat's punishment for everything."

"_What_?" Ron blanched, his eyes widening in shock while his head reeled in horror.

Draco clenched his fists, resisting the urge to punch a wall. His own mind cussed at the severity of the situation, yet he couldn't bring himself to act too surprised. No wonder Potter was reeking with darkness.

"How—how could this happen? How long?" Ron stammered.

Brooks laughed louder. "I've been told it has been ten years this June."

"Since the—the Final Battle?" Ron's knees weakened and he gripped onto a wall to steady himself. He felt lightheaded all of a sudden and slightly suffocating. "Merlin, this can't be… but—this can't be! Harry won that night! He lived! Voldemort died! I know; I was there! "

His only response has been more laughter in the darkness.

"We've been friends for two decades. I _know_ he is not Voldemort!"

Another wave of blood seemed to seep through the severed tissues in Brooks' body and laughing had become painful, so he settled for simply smiling at the bewildered redhead. "Master said it was a gradual process. If it's any consolation, full control was gained only recently."

Draco's chest tautened painfully. _When she left, Potter must've given up the fight…_

Ron stared at Draco, his eyes brimming not only with quelling tears, but also with desperate, silent pleas for him to be the voice of reason, to thwart the idea in its wake. But no help was offered and helplessness washed over him yet again. "This is mental! It's not possible! Possessions are the darkest form of art, and never was there a wizard that succeeded to hold onto a body longer than a year. Not even Voldemort! You're lying!"

"The look on your face!" Brooks barked, erupting in labored, wheezing laughs. "Yes, you maggot! It _is_ possible! Now you understand the vast powers _he_ holds? You are nothing to him! His magic is great! Eternal! And there is nothing you could do now to counter him! He is invincible!"

"Not exactly," came a quiet drawl as another figure climbed into the attic. Taking his time to brush off the resettling dust on his robes, Sir Lynus Malfoy finally straightened and looked around himself, scanning those present in the room. "I apologize, Arthur, for not following in your wake. I took the liberty of tying down and gathering the wounded. Just in case."

"Grandfather?" Draco stared at the archaic image of his own Father, seeming so odd in the middle of the Weasley's attic. It had been years since he last saw his grandfather in person, and for him to choose this exact place and this exact time was more than disconcerting. And yet so much like him.

"Who?" Ron demanded.

"Sir Lynus Malfoy, at your service." Sir Lynus smiled subtly and bowed curtly at the questioning redhead. "It is wonderful to finally meet you."

"Lynus Malfoy?" Ron repeated and then turned to his father. "What is going on here?"

"Yes, Grandfather, when did you return from Yorkshire?" Draco asked very politely, considering the scenery. His eyes, though, were slightly narrowed. Malfoys were Malfoys for a reason. "And what are you doing here? Now?"

"He came to me," Arthur injected, his voice sounding awfully tired and defeated as he distanced himself away from Brooks and towards his perch on the chest yet again. "We… we were visiting someone."

Draco couldn't help but bore his eyes at his grandfather again, suspicion blooming freely. "Were you?"

Sir Lynus arched a brow in response, wordlessly admonishing his grandson's blunt distrust.

"All right, and what exactly would you have to do with anything?" Ron asked irritably, his temper seizing the worst of him in the situation.

However, Sir Lynus was heeding him no attention and was watching the older Weasley instead. "You know what you have to do, Arthur."

"But it cannot be…" Arthur blurted meekly, his demeanor haggard beyond belief. He was drowning in despair and quickly approaching his breaking point right before the eyes of the young wizards.

Arthur's whole being reeked with something Draco found hard to decipher. That was until he saw the man's eyes and the feeling hit him like a tide. The older man's rich blue eyes were shining with bare and simple guilt.

"Everything is so horrible… How can I ever look at myself in the mirror, knowing I've caused this?"

"What are your choices?" Sir Lynus asked, his voice firm but gentle in face of such a fragile state. "If we do not do this, things will turn out a lot more grave."

"Yes," Arthur agreed and shakily ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Yes, I know." He rose to his feet and headed towards the trapdoor when something stopped him, and he found himself facing Draco instead. "I'm… I'm sorry," he rasped hoarsely and his eyes seemed to be brimming again. "I… _stole_… so much—"

No more words escaped him and soon the silence was disturbed by Sir Lynus' prodding voice. "Let's go." He turned to lead Arthur out of the attic and when the older redhead was halfway down the stairs, turned to face his grandson. It was obvious that the younger man demanded explanations, but he heeded that no attention and simply stared at him for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was solid and subtly grave, wishing luck even though said words weren't uttered.

"When he calls, go to him. And son…" Sir Lynus paused, holding his grandson's gaze. "When hell breaks loose, don't let her go."

Draco narrowed his eyes again, struggling to understand his grandfather. His interest and senses piqued, as he nodded and watched the patrician figure leave the room. Walking over to the broken window, he folded his arms across his chest and frowned at the darkness. Behind him, a less than comprehending Ron was becoming rapidly agitated.

"What is it?" he demanded. "Would you be as kind as to explain what exactly just transpired here? What's going on?" he raised his voice, stalking over to Draco's side. "Tell me _now, _Malfoy! What are they on about?"

"I think… my grandfather and your father are going to piss off some ancient spirits," Draco replied offhandedly, looking out of the window at the two departing figures.

"Invocation?" Ron blurted, staring at the back of the still wizard. "But it's dark—"

"Yes," Draco confirmed and turned to look at him again. "And we have to make sure it won't be wasted." His eyes drifted to the quiet figure of the Death Eater on the floor and then down to his own arm.

The veiling charms on his left forearm were about to be lifted, and the thought itself was enough to send a wave of nausea crashing through him.

-------------------------------

Have you ever noticed in what odd ways human fear works?

It sneaks up on unsuspecting souls, seizing their hearts in the bloodied claws of a ruthless tiger, digging deeper into the feeble structure and drawing more blood. It erupts out of nowhere, shattering fragile windowpanes and shuddering forts built on the strongest beliefs and the fiercest resolutions, sending the most ancient mountains toppling into the sea. It grips at one's throat, tightening the brutal grasp, driving jagged thorns into one's soul and heart and crumbling his resolve into piles of rotting remains. In a matter of mere moments it tightens the painful hold until it is impossible to breathe, and then, just like that, it lets go.

However, there are those times, those rare sinister times, after which one bears nightmares and dismal remembrances of the fear engraved into one's mind for a long time afterwards. It is when the fear takes its precious time in building itself painfully slowly and gradually - one skipped heartbeat at a time. It is when the fear becomes a frighteningly integral part of one's being and begins to take control over the aspects of his everyday life. It is when the fear crawls into one's chest and nestles there for all eternity, only to be awakened by the same image, the same thought, the same eyes every time.

Ginny Weasley bore the second kind of fear within her stomach, struggling with its hissing ridicule every day, trying to squash it, even when it towered feet above her measly form. She never thought this bloody creature could become a part of her existence, but at that very moment in her life, when she suddenly became painfully aware of the blunt interlinking this heinous snake shared with her, she also became aware of the fact that she had forgotten herself without this weight within her.

"What?" Ginny whispered breathlessly, her mind reeling against the incomprehensible words in an attempt to recompose them to have some other perfectly reasonable meaning, besides the foreboding implication. Her chest tightened, as no such thing could be accomplished, and she deemed to hear something snap within her.

When the man in front of her threw his head back and released nerve-wrecking laughter at the sight of her reaction, her heart jolted painfully, breaking into the savage gallop of a frightened steed. She became aware of the stoic numbness washing over her feeble body, the growing unsteadiness in her quaking legs and the ever-rising sense of doom at the pit of her stomach.

More years and confirmations than she could ever recall whirled before her eyes, only to be capriciously glared down by the same serpent that slithered into her heart and overwhelmed her with its hatred and venom all those forgotten years ago. A twisted sense of reunion settled inside of her and she could feel the bitter bile rising in her throat.

She tried to lie to herself, but it was becoming harder and harder to do with each passing breath. She tried to place the blame - on her family, on the society and the wizarding press, on herself - but it was useless and foolish and frantic. She tried to reason, to explain, to deny, but it was even more inane than her previous thoughts. At the very last, she tried to remember.

To remember the mood swings and the horrid clashes of behavior. To remember the searing imprints and the brutal blows, as opposed to shedding tears and begging caresses. To remember the odd reality and the even odder dreams… dreams that spoke of bizarre and untrue pasts that, all of a sudden, gained new light and horrid grounds.

"A bit shocking, I guess." The man clad in the visage of Harry Potter spoke up with blunt mirth visible in his eyes and traceable in his voice. "Isn't it, Ginevra?"

The voice, the baleful glee and the sinister, lingering intonation in which her own name was spoken were enough to send a spread of agitated shudders throughout her body. Ginny's back involuntarily coiled with rippling apprehension, unconsciously drawing the whole figure away from the ghastly image of the unjust death elusion.

"Didn't I tell you I'd come back for you?" the man continued in a concerned tone that shone in brilliant radiance of cruel-hearted jeer. "Didn't I promise?"

"You promised to never hurt me." The raspy whisper flittered past her lips before she became aware of the growing, choking lump in her throat and the dangerous prickling behind her eyes. Shocked at her own strained and pregnant voice, she gasped in horror, only to have drawn a shuddering breath mingled with a desperate sob.

Touched by her seemingly breaking façade, he looked at her pitifully, his whole air exuding a reek of patronization she could never bear. And when he took a step towards her, wishing to offer her sick sense of comfort, she had enough strength within her crumbling defenses to step away, causing a frowning line, and then a downright snarl, to appear on his face.

As if completing the accursed comprehension at that very sight, Ginny subtly shook her head, her lips mouthing wordless pleas for different explanations. Taking another step back, her hands reached out behind her in search of something to hold on to, something solid that would anchor her to the ground and support her from hurling into the bottomless abysses of despair she was too accustomed with.

"No, no, oh gods, no," she continued mumbling in beseeching whispers, shaking her head and staring at the raven-haired man pleadingly, wishing it to be some sort of a perverse jest. "It cannot be…"

The man watched her, derision carved deeply on his features and his eyes shining with twisted pleasure at the sight of her desolation and breaking composure. He had always enjoyed the effects his mere air had on lesser beings, especially if those beings were broken and reduced to sniveling creatures at his feet.

"Yes, Ginevra," he countered softly, taking a step closer to the retreating girl. "It _can_ be. It _is_ true, and it _is_ possible."

A shuddering breath escaped her, the entire figure trembling, and Ginny watched the wizard before her as he laughed again, rejoicing in her dread. The unruly hair tousled and the jade in his eyes amused, causing a sharp pang to pierce through her chest. _Harry…_

She watched the green eyes sweep down her form and linger on her chest and, perhaps for the first time, realized that, not only was this Tom, back from the dead yet again, but that it was also not Harry. It was the same body, the same eyes, the same unruly hair, but… the movements, the mannerisms, even the voice were entirely different. As if it was not the body of Harry Potter before her, possessed by evil, but simply Tom, the way he would've looked had she met him in his twenties. She gulped hard and shook her head. Her mind was trying to accommodate impossible knowledge and her temples began to throb at the exertion.

What had happened to Harry himself? Was he really gone? How long had this been going on? How long had she been living with… with this monster? Why did she never sense this abomination before? How could she ever be so blind?

Every step she took, he matched with his own. Every movement she made, he carefully watched and inspected. She backed away, cowering, an image of a damned rabbit being cornered by a snake saliently engraved within her mind. When her back finally hit the wall, her heart sank into her stomach, and she knew there was no possible escape. She had no control over the situation anymore, and she wondered painfully whether she ever had. Now all that was left for her was to play out the role the Fates had written for her and face her grand finale with as much dignity as she could muster in her wretched state.

"H—how?" The word came out as almost a whisper, a ghost of a query that didn't matter anymore. Her chest gnawed at the thought.

The sneer widened on his face and became even more obnoxious. "As a matter of fact, I have you to thank for this. You and your father."

Ginny's stomach jerked painfully and her face blanched. "What does my father have to do with this?"

Enjoying every single moment of her anxiety, he remained silent for as long as possible, prolonging her suffering for his own entertainment. "Oh, so much, Ginevra," he said finally, taking another step towards her. "So very much."

She watched him, wishing he could be stopped. Perhaps not even in the grand sense of the word – conquered, vanquished, destroyed, killed. Her mind was so far gone beyond hope that a bitter realization crooned to her that perhaps… perhaps death really wasn't a concept that had anything to do with him. With Tom. He was so preoccupied with the obsession of staying alive that maybe Death grew tired of him and decided to let him have his way. _Let the boy become immortal. He bores me anyway._

A hiccough of a laugh would have escaped her lips, had her throat not been so decisively thick with terror. No, she no longer wished to defeat the black-haired boy who made the dark moments of her life so much darker.

But oh, how she wished he would stop coming closer. She noted every step, every shift of his muscles, every whisper of a footfall, every breath. Those things suddenly became exaggerated in the quiet room and nothing else existed in her world. Nothing, besides the crackling fire that lent off a faint atmosphere of hell to her predicament.

"You see," he suddenly spoke up again, somehow heeding to her inner pleas and stopping in his tracks. "It was your father's very good intentions that are mostly responsible for… this." He smiled, turning away and strolling towards the hearth to stand beside the fire. There he paused, glanced back at her and seemed confused for just a meager moment before resuming his air of cold. "He was so adamant about keeping you safe, that he forsook his most basic beliefs and performed the unthinkable." He turned to her again and the set of familiar lips curved into a mocking smile. "A dark ritual."

Ginny concentrated on breathing – hauling one raspy breath after the other, keeping her lungs from collapsing and her mouth from unraveling into a sobbing mess. Facing her worst fear, come to life, she had to give herself credit. Breathing was possible. Composure was attainable. Fear still gripped her in a twisting iron fist, but she was standing on her feet. His words – each and every uttered syllable, as a matter of fact - were like droplets of poison, but she did not expect anything less.

Finally, she caught onto his words and shook her head. "He would never—"

"And yet he did," he cut her off, delighted at the image of fright and disbelief before him. "He thought he was doing 'The Right Thing' by breaking the prophecy and keeping you away from that Malfoy runt." The familiar face settled into a scowl, and he snapped his eyes back to her. "Of course, how was he to know his daughter would grow up to be a whore and cheat on her own husband with the same filth he was trying to protect her from?"

Shaking her head, Ginny felt her brows knit into incredulous frown. "I— don't understand. What—"

"Never mind." He scoffed at her confusion and turned away. "That piece of destiny is no longer valid. What is important here is that the breaking of that prophecy somehow – and I must admit I have no idea how –bound us together." Turning to her once again, Tom strolled towards her with his hands clasped behind his back and his mouth slightly mocking. He stopped uncomfortably close to her taut figure, leaning close to her shoulder and slowly inhaling.

Her skin crawled with revulsion, as Ginny tried to press herself into the wall. Away, away, her mind urged. Away from the touch, the sight, the knowledge of this baleful man. She heard him hum with contentment and something within her broke, surging tears into her eyes that she tried to blink away.

"You still smell good," his voice whispered close to her ear. "It will be such a pleasure to break you this time."

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As Arthur emerged from the darkness of the ancient forest and entered the sacred grounds, he was once again struck by the realization of how sinister and horrid woods could become when one's conscience was not entirely clear. He followed Sir Lynus into a padded clearing, eyes scanning the black alcoves around them and ears perking at the sound of every hoot and every shuffle. This place, these powerful dark grounds, had not changed in the least since the last time Arthur set foot here about three decades ago.

And just as back then, he could feel the powerful tendrils of ancient magic seep through the soles of his shoes into his body, tugging at his chest and caressing his hands with invisible soft fingers. They spoke to him again, telling him of cruelties they had to endure after his last ceremony and asking him to turn back and leave them. They had suffered enough on his behalf and if he was anything like the air about him, he couldn't allow such anguish to course through these grounds again.

But this time Arthur had no one to blame for what was about to occur, but his own foolish self. This time he did not feel helplessly dragged into the horrors of dark practice against his will by the fatal hands of the Fates. This time he had to stay simply because it was his fault, and his responsibility to correct it.

While Sir Lynus circled the grounds, preparing them with the multitude of invoking artifacts and carvings of barely remembered histograms on the face of the altar stone, Arthur got down onto the bare earth and, unlike the last time, this time instead of weeping, he bowed to them.

His fingers dug into the soft dark soil, and he allowed the spirits of it to enter his body, course his bloodstream and touch his heart. He listened as they wailed of the injustices of serving darkness without their consent, of the horrid winds and souls that barged into them and desecrated their once pure grounds with traces of avarice, vileness and horrors. He listened wordlessly, and his heart wrung at the hollow sound of their tears, as they brushed through him with silent pleas. He listened wordlessly for as long as there was air in them to weep, and when they finally silenced with content and some relief, he spoke back.

He spoke of his house, of all its crooks and crannies, all the creaking boards and leaking pipes, all the tiny rooms and troublesome domestic pests, he spoke of the spacious back yard. He spoke of his wife – of her strength, of her tenderness and care, of her red hair, of the way she fights and the way she makes up. He spoke of his children – each and every one of them a great deal different, yet somehow all fit so perfectly under his and their mother's wings, about their smiles, and their ways, and their lives. Finally he spoke of himself – the void that there was before his life was crushed with all these people and feelings, of his own struggles to make each and everyone of them feel as cherished as he felt himself, of his pain and worries regarding them, and at the very last of his mistakes.

And when he spoke of his mistakes, when his heart broke inside him, he felt the spirits within and around him sigh. Slowly, their fingers let go of his flesh and of his soul, and they retreated back into the soil, leaving nothing of their anguish but whispers in the dark. They will not share in his pain. They did not concede to this misuse of their energy, and they shall never forgive his sins against them. But perhaps – they did not promise– perhaps… they will forget.

"Arthur," Sir Lynus called mere minutes afterwards, drawing the attention of his companion back to the present. "Come. It is almost time."

Arthur climbed to his feet and approached the wide ceremonious stone to which years of mistreatment bestowed the air of malice. In his mind, he understood quite well that the grounds were ancient and powerful, and yet not necessarily dark. But so many black rituals had stained this territory that it did not matter anymore – the land was not evil, but its memories were.

"Perhaps…" Arthur's voice trailed into silence for a moment before he spoke again to voice a thought that has been bothering him. "Lucius had said that the prophecy was not broken. That it simply flittered away and was reinstalled afterwards. Maybe… maybe by prying into the matter further we would just aggravate the situation?"

Sir Lynus drew a breath and shook his head, continuing to draw runes on the stone. "Lucius was incorrect. The prophecy was broken that evening. And it wasn't the only prophecy broken that evening, as you may well remember. Voldemort attacked the Potters in an attempt to outwit the Fates as well, and the magical outburst from the two events probably propelled everything out of order. Something went entirely wrong, and the bond between the individuals of the prophecies somehow… interweaved."

"But how can you be so sure?"

Sir Lynus leveled him with a stare. "Perhaps it didn't happen exactly so, but the fact remains – Voldemort deemed it important enough to retrieve the prophecy orb from Lucius."

Nodding, Arthur cleared his throat and steeled himself for another inquiry. "Last time… Lucius—that is, there was a need for—" Cutting himself off, he closed his eyes shot and squared his jaw. "I understand a piece of soul is required."

Sir Lynus frowned and placed the last of the artifacts – a copper goblet – onto the stone. After a moment of consideration, he seemed to remember and shook his head. "There will be no soul trading tonight. We are not sneaking behind the Fates' backs like thieves, and we are not performing dark rituals. Ancient? Yes. Difficult? Absolutely. Dangerous? Most definitely, but it shall not be dark."

Shakily drawing a relieved breath, Arthur nodded. "What are we doing then?"

"Summoning the Fates," Sir Lynus replied, squaring his shoulders. "And we are going to beg them for forgiveness. Both sides."

Chill trickled down Arthur's spine as the comprehension sank in. Summoning the Fates was not unheard of – rituals existed, books wrote about it, and traditions were passed down through generations – but it had always been done by women, kindred priestesses, because men were shunned by the divine triplet. No man had ever spoken a word of it. Not a living man, in any case. Torn between frustration and determination to do what necessary, he looked away, staring at the stone. "No man summons the Fates."

"Then we shall summon them not as men," Sir Lynus retorted, his voice slightly cooler. "But as beggars, if we must, there is no other way. It is their plan that was destroyed. Their tapestry ruined. It is them we must appease."

Clenching his jaw, Arthur nodded at the subtle reprimand. "All right, then," he spoke the final consent and nodded. "What is to be done?"

Soft whispers filled the air moments later as both men took their places beside the stone and began the ritual. Arthur anxiously harbored his expectations, awaiting the wind to pick up, the soil to tremble and hordes of wailing spirits to barge into the clearing, crying and bemoaning their awful fate. However, none of that happened.

Their voices remained level even as magic stirred around them. Hands uplifted towards the sky, Arthur listened to the tender breeze brushing through the treetops and felt how the forest swung along with the odd rustling melody that filled the air. At first, he thought he heard the leaves murmur in the distance, then the gurgling of a stream, and finally – when the strange song grew louder and closer – he deciphered words and human voices - women's voices, soothing as a stroke of velvet and strong as the humming of a sleeping oak. He watched as Sir Lynus nodded slowly and closed his eyes, joining his baritone into the melody with rueful harmony.

This was the song of the ages, the slow passing of time and magic, the fleeting sound the world made as it wearily turned on its sphere. This was the essence of ancient and for a moment Arthur became acutely aware of all the wrongs he had done in his life. The voices, as he had known all along, were the call of the Fates.

Air shifted about them, moving, flowing, settling into different molds, restlessly spurring again to change and shake and elude formation. Moments passed – mere moments or centuries – and the air parted before the two wizards, revealing very distinct shapes. Three females drifted over the earth, nude and completely breathtaking, long tendrils of hair reaching past their hovering toes and moonlight shimmering across their skin as on a surface of the stillest lake.

All were identical and yet divided by centuries of knowledge – the Daughter with her proud chin and pale blonde locks, covered her barely blooming breasts and her sex; the Mother smiled sadly while cradling her increasing stomach, partially hidden behind the curtain of dark auburn tresses; and the eldest, the Crone, with her snow white hair, simply touched her heart. All three gazed onwards through milky white eyes, seeing no one and everything through those sightless eyes.

Arthur swallowed hard against his dry throat, following the lead of his companion and silencing his chants. Sir Lynus beside him remained silent, staring at the deities with hard resolve present in those old blue eyes. Steeling himself against trepidation, Arthur breathed.

"Who?" A quiet rasping voice trickled through the silence. None had moved their lips and yet it was obvious that the Crone was the one to inquire.

"Men, men," trilled a fiercer voice of the youngest through the air, chirping as a bird. "Meddling men."

"Not men," the melody of Mother's tone flowed. "A father. And a friend. Oh…"

Arthur was about to venture a response when the smile on Mother's face faltered and her brows knitted sorrowfully.

"Remember you! Remember you!" Three voices chanted in unison. "Shearer!"

"Why?" The rasping voice broke shakily through the voices of others, lingering accusingly in the air.

"Yes, why?" echoed the daughter. "Why do you call us, Shearer? Wish you to cut another tapestry? Wish you to skew more lives? Destroy more destinies? Remember you!"

Dread gripping his throat, Arthur blanched, shaking his head. "No," he choked out. "No! Beg… beg forgiveness…"

"Forgiveness?" Mother followed, hopeful and sad in her expression. "For…"

"Everything," injected Arthur. "The breaking of the prophecy, presumption—I—I thought—"

"Thought, thought, you always _think_!" the daughter shrilled.

"You should have felt…" the mother added, her voice hanging in the air as residual smoke. There was bitter finality in her voice that almost weakened Arthur's knees.

"I felt! I feel still! I—"

"What?" another rasp of the crone frittered in the darkness.

Arthur glanced at Sir Lynus, not having an inkling of an idea whether this was going as it should or if hope was already far beyond their reach. His heart thundered in his chest, his palms sweating and hands shaking. He felt small and insignificant and yet words were the only thing that kept him straight at the moment.

"Fear," he confessed in a whispered. "Frustration, anger, guilt—"

"Anger?" inquired the daughter, her voice lacking the accusing lilt for the first time. "Angry you were? Had you a right?"

"I thought—I felt my daughter was being condemned. I was afraid she was destined for misery—"

"Love," the mother interjected. "She was destined for love. Light the darkness of another's heart. Babes… you stole her children," she crooned, bracing her own belly tighter and weeping invisible tears.

Arthur felt his heart break. Love, light, children… He had taken all of this away from his daughter. He had deemed to know better than the Fates, and he had ruined everything. He choked trying to gulp another breath and bite back the tears, and crumbled to his knees. Chest heaving, mind reeling, he buried his face in his hands and bowed to the soil, stifling a cry.

"Forgiveness," a voice above him repeated almost calmly, though it was laden with strain. "We are begging."

Sir Lynus, Arthur realized and forced himself to look up, wipe his face and stare at the blind women who gazed somewhere far over his head. "Begging… for a chance to repay the debt, redeem my stupidity. I'll bear any punishment! But _please_… she's my _daughter_…"

"When?" The hoarse word settled on the two wizards like a decision.

Without a moment of hesitation, Arthur blurted, "Now. Tomorrow. Five years ago – whenever you say." He sprung to his feet and stared at the eldest of Fates, watching her look onwards away from him and into the darkness of the forest. Yet, he understood her attention was on him and he was humbled by the thought.

Silence stretched in the clearing like a heavy blanket. The Fates considered, contemplated, perhaps even consulted, but all of this happened millenniums away from the clearing. When the decision was reached, they response was brief.

"It shall be done, and you will pay with the blood of your own," the crone murmured and without another word, all three dissipated into the air.

When the air was no longer pregnant with formidable magical energy and the barrage of sounds of forest life assaulted the two elder wizards, Arthur allowed a shadow to cross his heart.

"What shall be done?"


	21. They Came Through Darkness

**Author's Note:** Gratitude, gratitude and some more gratitude to **jandjsalmon** and **dragonsangel68 **for going through the story and fixing all the blotches caused by nighttime muses.

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**21 :: They Came Through Darkness**

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The soft crackling and popping sounds whispered irregularly by the fire lulled Ginny into a false sense of tranquility. She was sitting in front of the hearth on a tattered mat that once upon a time was probably a luscious carpet, but was now reduced by time and moths into a rag. Tom had left her alone some time ago, yet she did not venture to count the minutes – like a prisoner in an Azkaban cell, she knew her vile warden would return all too soon. She sat hugging her knees, her chin propped atop and her eyes following the unchoreographed dance of the flames. Thinking.

Thinking had become the only thing she had the indulgence of that was not controlled by her captor. Thinking was currently the only part of her that he had no control over –dwelling in Harry's body had, apparently, stripped of him some of the gifts he had acquired during his life, Legilimens being one of them. Ginny couldn't help but sob with relief when she heard that, causing him great displeasure.

"_Do not worry, Ginevra. All it takes is practice, and we will be one in mind," he assured her belligerently, watching her lose color. "And after tonight, we will be one in heart."_

Her stomach had lurched at the thought, but he ignored her inquiries and left the room, tossing over his shoulder a warning to refrain from attempting an escape, seeing as the grounds were spelled to burn her alive should she try. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind – she knew him well enough to understand that she now lived on borrowed time, and if she wished to maintain her heartbeat, she would have to keep quiet, watch, wait. And think.

What he had said made little sense to her, but she did not try to gain understanding of the man. Apparently, there was a prophecy, something concerning her and Draco… and her father? Despite his willingness to talk, watching her cower and enjoying the horror his presence inspired in her, he had not managed to string together a single sentence coherent enough for Ginny to understand how on earth this had happened. How had he managed to stay alive and possess Harry's body? What was he planning? Is anyone else aware of the fact that the Dark Lord is occupying the body of The Boy Who Lived? And perhaps, most important in her situation, had anyone discovered that she had disappeared?

At that thought, she lowered her forehead onto her knees and stifled a shudder. She absently wondered how this had happened. How she had managed to turn into a damn target, a burden, a useless damsel in distress. She had been brave once, strong. She raced the winds on a broom, fought alongside with Aurors and Order members, and wrenched her own life from the claws of Death. She had an Order of Merlin, for Pete's sake!

And now?

She was nothing more than a victim. And all of this, because the man she loved—

But… wait. The man she once loved had never struck her. Chest constricting, she raised her gaze and sniffed, blinking at the flames. She had not been abused and betrayed by her husband, the man she had entrusted her life and love to. Nor was she infantilized by him in order to keep her small and powerless. No. For months now – these crucial, devastating months – she had been living… with a monster. Had been sharing her house with him, her life, her… bed. The idea repulsed her, but also made something inside of her stir.

She began to crumble apart the first time Harry hit her. All of a sudden, her world quaked, and the ground had been swept from under her feet. The event didn't make sense, and then everything else didn't make sense, because the Hero was no longer a Hero, the city was no longer safe, the country had been tainted with darkness, and her entire preconception of life tumbled. She frowned at the hearth. How stupid it was to base her preconceptions on one man. One mortal man. But then again, Harry was never a mere mortal for her. He was… Harry.

But now, a thought niggled at the back of her mind and she turned her attention there. He was still Harry. That is, if he still was. For he had never raised his hand against her. The man she married, the boy she loved, was locked somewhere within his own body, ruled by a cruel and hateful sovereign that did all those things – each blow, each bruise, each cut and tear were caused not by Harry, but by Tom. Tom had struck her, Tom had fed off her horror and Tom had reduced her to a whelp.

A gasp pierced the silence as Ginny bit back a sob, this time something other than misery beginning to seethe beneath the surface – something akin to anger. She couldn't handle Harry as the villain, it defied everything she had ever believed it, everything she held dear and could hold on to. But Harry was not the villain here, Tom was. And Tom was always the villain. The villain, the hatred, the fear that managed to mar everything it came across. Tom was the evil in Harry's eyes, he was the sneer on his face, and he had been the strength of his blow.

This she could handle. This she could understand.

Narrowing her eyes, she glanced at the door behind her, and then let her gaze slip around the room. She wiped her nose and released a puff of bitter laughter. _And he knew it… the bastard knew it_. What unnerved her so, what broke her down, was not Tom himself. It was his mind games, the manipulations of a skilled tormentor meant to make her believe she was… weak, powerless. If she had faced him on his own, she would have fought – anger would have overwhelmed fear, and she would have struck and cursed and battled him as an equal.

But he clad in the visage of Harry, just like a Boggart donned one's greatest fear, and unhinged the one thing in her life she could always rely on – herself. The effect would have been the same had he slithered into her childhood home and possessed one of her family. There were some things that were holy to a person and he had managed to warp them beyond recognition. How typical of Tom.

She climbed to her feet and headed to one of the boarded windows whose plank had loosened over the years. She glanced out and through the crack saw the expanse of untended lawn and the sprawling small town at the foot of the hill the manor crowned. She looked around herself and grabbed the dried out dusty inkpot resting on a small table. She pushed at the loosened plank and reached out, tossing the inkpot onto the lawn. Not that she had doubted Tom's words, but she preferred to see the leaping hungry flames of his magical ward for herself before deciding to refrain from venturing outside on foot.

The only way out was either Apparition or airborne, both of which required a wand. Where was her wand? Her mind raced back through the recent events, trying to remember when was last time she held it. Memory provided the distinct feel of strong male arms holding her in a desperate attempt to sooth her raging beastly manners, and the sensation of soft pliant lips retaliating for the assault she had initiated. She felt her cheeks flush and her chest tighten. Draco.

Clenching her jaw tight, she ran her hands through her disheveled hair. Draco, Draco… She wished she hadn't done that. Wait, no. She wished she had the opportunity to do a lot more. Oh, my. Those thoughts were most probably unbecoming in her dire situation, but they swayed her mind from fear and filled with a completely different trepidation. She hoped he was safe and doing everything in his power to keep himself as far away from Tom as possible. She didn't know what fate awaited him once Tom got his claws into his heart, and, quite frankly, the thought made her nauseous with anxiety.

Whisper of a lock pervaded the room, and Ginny turned in time to see Harry's familiar form walk through the door. She still couldn't get used to the idea, but the sight of that smile on his lips drove the notion home. This was Tom.

"I see you are up and about," he drawled almost cheerfully. "You looked upset earlier. Are you feeling better now?"

Trying not to sneer at the pleasantries, Ginny glared at him. "Better will be when I see you dead."

Arching both brows at her words, he seemed amused. "You have seen me die countless times, Ginevra. Haven't you grown tired yet?"

"One more time," she said stiffly. "One last time"

There was something in her eyes that made his lips curl into a smile, a grin, before he laughed out loud. "Such fierceness. But come, Ginevra, somewhere within this flesh there still resides some small part left by Potter. You wouldn't dream of hurting him."

He was correct, of course. She could have never before brought herself to hurt Harry; her love for him ran too deep. But for the past months, her love for herself had come to run far deeper, and if she had no choice, she assured herself, she would sacrifice him. That callous thought struck her painfully, but was brushed aside. Everyone had their hands bloodied in this war, and she was beginning to understand that she had been through just enough to make her desperate to survive.

There was no need for Tom to see this just yet, so she bit her cheek and averted her eyes, admission of defeat bitter on her tongue.

He smiled again, but his voice was crisp. "Seeing as you bark, I take it, you do feel better."

Ginny felt a chill run up her spine along with the unspoken words – _We can have none of that…_

"Come," he said and left the room, leaving the door wide open.

Ginny hesitated instinctively. There was something missing in his air, something that upset the entire picture of him and made her even more wary, even more aware and afraid of the shadows. A minute later, when she was still standing in the room and was not being dragged by Death Eaters to abide by his word, she understood – he wasn't flanked by followers. He had not yet summoned his supporters to his side, so perhaps… perhaps there was still hope.

She stepped out of the room into the hallway and followed the echo of the retreating footsteps. The manor was rackety, obviously abandoned and not tended for years, and though its adornments were mostly heavy curtains of spider web, she couldn't help but notice the vastness of the house. The hall was spacious, and the room where she had been was, apparently, one of the smaller drawing rooms, because all the chambers she passed were grand and submerged in complete darkness. She reached the staircase and slowly, carefully made her way downstairs. Despite the stature of the manor, it was old, each step of hers releasing a tired moan from the floorboards, as if the house itself was tired of its occupants.

She paused at the foot of the stairs and glanced both ways. To her right, darkness stretched beyond her sight; to her left, beyond what appeared to be a dining hall, one half of a set of double doors was ajar through which the flickering of a fire drew her. She made her way around strewn broken chairs and smashed pictures, ruined paintings and shattered china. Peeking through the door, she pushed it carefully and stepped into what once was the ballroom.

Disordered and poorly lit, it still managed to instill a sense of humbleness in the youngest of the Weasley clan, with its unimaginably high ceilings, besmirched frescos and crumbling plaster molds that once were magnificent and splendid, and now only wept melancholically of better days.

"You seem interested." His voice came from far too close, and Ginny whirled around just in time to take a step back and move away completely from Tom, who was lurking in the shadows just behind her. Following her wordlessly with his gaze, he curled one side of his lips unpleasantly as he noted her surprise. Hands clasped behind his back, he walked to the fireplace. "I suppose, I could restore the house to its grandeur and give it to you once everything is settled. If you ask nicely." The last part was almost hissed at her with utmost mockery.

"I think I'll pass," she bit out quietly, making her way to the farthest edge of the lighted ring, wishing to keep all the possible distance between them. Remembering her previous train of thought, she asked, "Where are your lapdogs?" Her voice was injected with the right amount of contempt that should she was right, her inquiry would sting.

It didn't. "All in due time," he drawled absently, crushing a smidgen of her hope. He kept his back to her, watching the fire frolic in the hearth and playing with something in his hands. Silence settled for a long minute, before he seemed to remember her. "Suit yourself about the house. You'll have to live somewhere, and you might as well make use of my offer."

What unnerved Ginny the most was the fact that he acted so much like… a human. His previous reptilian flesh was in accordance with his essence – hideous, dark and terrifying. She didn't like the easy way he was talking, so casually and confidently discussing her imprisonment like it was a mere convenient arrangement. Squaring her shoulders and bracing herself against the call that crept from the darkness, Ginny glared at him. "You seem to be under the mad impression that I will stay here. My family will know I'm gone, they will come looking, and once they find you, you will be begging you had died the first time."

He glanced at her, visibly repressing amusement and finally released a short bark of laughter. "You seem to be under the misconstrued impression that your family is still alive."

His flippant reaction to the subject twisted her stomach into a knot and squeezed at her heart. She felt like a recalcitrant child being scolded – furious, belittled and so desperate to lash out. He ignored her and continued speaking with his eyes on the fire. The orange blazes skittered across the surface of his glasses, rendering his image quietly sinister, like a serpent lying in wait in the garden.

"No, Ginevra, I sent my… lapdogs to finish them off. I was never fond of your parents as in-laws. So meddling."

"It'll take more than a bunch of lunatics to get to them," she spat back and shivered. She hoped. Oh, Merlin, how she hoped.

"Yes, I suppose," he droned inattentively, again not interested in her. His gaze fell to his hands and he seemed to straighten his back. "We will know soon enough… When I summon them back. Meanwhile, let me show you something," he said, his face clad in the mockery of enthusiasm, like an insincere elder trying to lure a child into a story. Glancing at her, he revealed his hand, letting the fire illuminate him with its warm glow. He held a small ball made of glass, whose contents were shimmering shiftily under the dancing light. "Do you know what this is?"

Ginny eyed it in silence, a sense of foreboding growing within as she recognized the artifact, yet she did not know why. "A prophecy orb."

Tom smiled at her, his mouth wide and bracketed by laughter marks, and for a moment he seemed so much like Harry. "Correct. More than that, however, it is your prophecy orb. Here, almost three decades ago, resided a small insubstantial prediction, tying you and Draco Malfoy with bonds of love."

He watched her as the comprehension sank for the first time. Brows kitting and eyes widening in confusion, she couldn't help but stare. Her mouth dropped open to say something, but for a moment nothing of significance came to mind.

He laughed at her response and tossed the ball into the air, fluently catching it and exhibiting it as a rare artifact. "Fascinating, isn't it? It is no wonder you are surprised, seeing as, as I've told you, both your father and his were highly displeased, and became resolute to never see the union form. They agreed to perform a dark ritual that was supposed to disconnect the tie between you two, and they succeeded."

Ginny struggled somewhat to keep up with his words, finally understanding what he meant earlier and yet finding this hard to believe. Her… and Draco? Predestined? The notion did not make her as uncomfortable as it would have a few months back, but it was unnerving nonetheless. She thought back on the easy manner between them, even during fights; thought of his kindness, heavily veiled with arrogance and taunts; thought of the way he fit into her family. She thought of his hands and lips and couldn't help the miserable shudder cascading down her spine.

He didn't seem to notice her lapse in attention and simply watched the orb in silence, inspecting the light gossamer content drifting within it. When he snapped out of his reverie, he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if resigning himself to something necessary and unavoidable. "For the most part, anyway. Enough to make the relationship highly unlikely and completely impossible had everything happened as it should have. As you know, it didn't. It rarely does." He sighed and shook his head, a weary old traveler on the path of life. "In any case, what's important right now is the fact that they had not succeeded… entirely."

There was something in his manner that sent another shiver down her spine, this one completely different. She looked at him and felt like sneaking into the shadows and hoping he would forget her presence completely and leave her alone somewhere in the corner. There was something… something she couldn't name in his air, something she dare not try to decipher or interrupt.

"This orb – this tiny glass contraption – still contains a part of the prophecy that ties you, dear Ginevra, to a man. And here is the interesting part – I can change it."

Understanding trickled in like black ink into water. Ginny felt her eyes widen, felt a small tremor coursing through her and saw blackness creeping at the edges of her vision. Her stomach lurched, and she could almost feel the bile rise up her throat. She thought she might be sick, then decided it would be better to faint, before finally settling for taking a step back. Her heart thundered in her ears, blood pumping and making it impossible to hear, to think. The all too familiar voice, however, cut through her haze of paralysis when it rung out in a jovial laughter.

"Haven't you ever wanted to be a Lady? Albeit somewhat Dark."

"Wh—" She choked on her words, swallowed hard and stared at him, incredulous. "Why do you need this?"

His expression sobered up immediately, the cheerful lines smoothing out into a mask of stone. "Why? Maybe I love you?" he said quietly, his eyes boring into her in his inspection. "Maybe I can't stand the thought of you despising me this much? Maybe it _hurts_ me to see this fear in your eyes, and I am desperate enough to do _anything_ to have you by my side?"

She felt tears sting her throat, her eyes. Shaking her head, she whispered meekly, "Horseshit."

Intensity broke instantly as that grim façade crumbled into a smile. "Yes, quite. Unfortunately, the only way I can subdue Potter is by threatening him with you. And he will never again attempt to fight me, as long as his beloved little wife is painfully, hopelessly, insufferably devoted to me." He smile turned into a smirk. "For that, I'll endure it."

"You're lying," she finally bit out after a long moment of silence, trying to outstare him. Her eyes were brimming with tears now, though, and that made her blink, made her world swim before her eyes, made her blind and desperate. "It's impossible to force— someone to _feel_…"

He walked towards her, taking advantage of her baffled and disoriented state. He took hold of her chin and lifted her face up, looking into the glittering brown eyes and smiling, his heart visibly heavy with enjoyment. "It is possible. Not easy, but possible. Think about it, Ginevra… Who could ever resist love such as predestined by the Fates?"

Steeling himself against the cold, Draco stood in the middle of the Burrow's backyard, staring up at the pregnant moon, his heart a hard lump of stone. Or at least that's what he'd been trying to convince himself of for the past hour. The house was overrun by Aurors, Hit Wizards and several Unspeakables, who clustered together and didn't utter a word the entire time, though appeared to be having avid conversations with their eyes amongst themselves. Ministry officials had been here to sanction the upcoming attack, and then quickly skedaddled to their respective hiding holes, in case of a failure.

Everyone was so filled with razor-sharp anxiety that Draco had a vague feeling of dread that someone might burst before the battle. Despite the thrill zinging through the air, he could feel some despair and other's frustration. Voldemort wasn't dead. Again. He had risen to power right under their noses. Again. The situation would have been ridiculous enough to laugh at, if it wasn't so frightening. Somewhere in the background, he heard whispers that the Dark Lord was indeed immortal and that they are all headed to sure slaughter. Victory was unthinkable, and even if reached, it would only be temporary. Yet again.

Draco snuck out of the house when the air became too stifling for him. He couldn't bear their whispers, couldn't bear their fear, and couldn't bear those surreptitious glances they cast his way whenever they thought he wouldn't notice. He wasn't the only cooperator in the building; however, he was the only one who was allowed to remain in the wizarding community after the last war. This and the fact that he had been present at the scene of the first Death Eater attack in ten years, made him all the more suspicious, all the more dangerous. During the briefing, he could feel their eyes staring at him, awaiting the evil within him to burst outside and ooze all over the hardwood floor. He had to escape them for a while. Those well-trained law enforcers that were specifically taught to never trust a known Death Eater were living by the creed all too well, and it grated on his nerves.

The cold was enough to clear his mind, make him sober and serious, while the moon was heavy enough to fill his mind with thoughts of red hair. He tried not to dwell further into the matter, tried not to feel the tugs of fear and ripples of anger, tried not to envision the crooked claws of Voldemort's hands leaving deeper wounds on her, tried to maintain a stoic composure when all he really wanted to do was storm and rave and hurt someone. He thought he could feel the ghost of her touch, but it was just the wind; he wanted to hear her voice, but those were just the leaves on the treetops; he braced himself at the scent of cinnamon coming from the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was making sure everyone was well fed.

There was nothing to do until the cooperators felt the pull in their left forearms, so all they had to do was… wait. Standing in the middle of the night, facing an open field that stretched for miles, he had never before felt himself so caged.

"Malfoy," Weasley's voice poked through his dejectedness, carried on the wave of ruckus slipping through the open kitchen door. The door closed then and his footsteps sounded heavy in the darkness. He made his way towards the solitary figure and stopped beside him, staring onwards as well. "Stevenson wants to go over things once again."

"It hasn't changed in the last twenty minutes, as far as I know," Draco responded casually, his hands slipping into the pockets of his robes.

Ron exhaled a small laughter. "Yeah, he is a bit of a pain in the arse. But he's thorough."

Draco glanced at him sideways and sighed briefly. "Fine. Give me a minute."

He expected Ron to accept the agreement and leave, but a moment of silence stretched between them and the redhead did not make a move towards the door. When Draco was about to insist, he heard the other wizard clear his throat.

"I've been watching you this time and, well, I can see you're uneasy," Ron mumbled, clearing his throat yet again and shifting uncomfortably. "So… look, you're a civilian and you don't have to do this. No one will think any less of you."

Surprised, Draco turned halfway towards him and inspected his conversant. His shoulders were broad and straightened to an almost military poise, but there was the telltale blush of discomfort on his neck, visible even in the relative darkness. "Are you calling me a coward? And subtly, at that? Weasley, I think this is the most subtlety you've ever used in a conversation."

The redhead laughed, putting both himself and Draco at ease. "Yeah, well, Hermione's badgering finally settled in, I suppose." He rubbed his face then tiredly and ran his hand through his hair. He has been doing that a lot. "Anyway, I meant what I said. You don't have to go. This isn't your battle."

Draco felt his chest leaden, clenching his jaw and his fists before feeling calm enough to reply. "Here you are wrong. This battle is mine. More so than all the Aurors you've got in there."

"This isn't your job," Ron insisted.

There was something odd in his voice, something prodding that made Draco adamant about not seeing whatever it was in the man's eyes as well.

Silence wrapped him like a cloud for a long, almost overbearing minute, and all the while he could feel Ron's eyes watching him wordlessly, carefully, assessing and calculating. When the quiet was finally broken, Draco wished that it hadn't.

"Do you love her?"

"No," he replied, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Not yet, anyway." After another moment, he added almost absently, "But it would be so easy to." He shuddered and rubbed his eyes. His stomach was shrunken into a constant knot that lurched every time he dared think of her.

"Frighteningly easy?" inquired the redhead carefully.

Draco inhaled and dropped his hand down again, curling it back into his pocket. "Yes." He glanced at Ron just in time to see him hum an agreement, bearing the air of a knowing man.

"Took me longer to figure out," he divulged.

"You were never the brightest wand in the shop," Draco tried to ease away from the laden matter. His attempt was futile, as Ron seemed to be determined to get rid of another stone that cumbered him.

"I wanted to thank you… also."

Surprised, he chanced a glance at Ron, his eyebrows knit into a frown. He hoped this did not turn out into a soppy moment.

"I still remember it," the other wizard confessed as if Draco was supposed to know what he was talking about. "At the final battle," he explained, causing an involuntary twitch to grace Draco's hands. "She would've flung herself in front of him and you've—"

"I don't remember that," Draco bit out and turned away. That was a lie, but Weasley's tone was enough to make a saint uncomfortable, and Draco was far from a bloody saint. He had absolutely no desire to be standing here, discussing these things.

"I do," Ron countered, noting the agitation palpable in the air and yet plowing on. "I was so angry… I couldn't overcome— Anyway, I wanted to thank you then, but I was too busy being stupid."

Suddenly irritated and impatient, Draco sneered, waving the words off. "It was nothing, all right. Just—nothing."

A blissful hush settled between them, and Draco dared to hope that Ron was finally rid of his chattiness. Alas.

"Back then, did you—"

And Draco knew exactly what the blockhead meant. It didn't make it any easier to bite out, "No." He turned to stare at him, annoyed, and tried to hide the fidgeting of his fingers. Finally, he exhaled before speaking. "I didn't. I just… saw her. All right? That's it, I just saw her."

"What are you planning to do?" The almost soft question thundered through his mind.

Draco shook his head and turned away from the redhead again. "Get her to safety. Everything else is your concern."

He heard a chuckle and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from lashing out at the idiot who found his discomfort so damn amusing.

"And after that?" Ron insisted. "If all goes well."

Draco's annoyance dissipated, giving way to the grimness nestling in the lines of his expression. "If all goes well, she will be grieving."

Through the boarded windows Ginny could smell the rain. The wooden planks had absorbed the moisture in the air and were permeating a soft moldy scent along with it, but through the cracks, rushes of cold wind brought the perfume of a fresh life-giving downpour. She could also hear the acoustics accompanying this occurrence, but the monotonous rapping had long since melted into a drone in the background, like that of a fridge, or of the crackling fire, or of the constantly pacing feet.

He was working, moving, preparing things for the upcoming gathering. So far, he had expelled almost all furniture out of the ballroom, stripped the walls of tapestries and curtains – clearly enjoying the sound of tearing precious fabric – and strewn the air with countless conjured candles. They hovered like mellow fireflies in the air, absently reminding Ginny of Hogwarts.

She was leaning forward, elbows propped on her knees, hands clasped together following the curve of the wooden planks with her eyes, as it shaped something magnificent she no longer had the ability to admire. Her face was smudged with tears, her hair disheveled, and a lump still clogged her throat. But she was no longer crying, no longer shaking. Fear had dissipated, anger had been drowned by tears, and tears had dried up to naught. Now, she was left with…

The thought brought no conclusion, and Ginny decided to let it go. Hope was not dead yet, however. She had tried to coax some magic into her hands – wandless magic was usually the prerogative of petulant children, but she tried anyway – and once she thought she made a mouse freeze in its tracks as it crawled along the floor, but it had only stopped to sniff the air, sensed the danger and disappeared back into the nether of the wall.

Every once in a while, when it got too quiet or too loud, she briefly glanced in the direction of her nightmare, but never allowed her stare to linger, for fear of having him look back. He had left her alone for the moment and, yet, advised her so sweetly to remain in the ballroom, that she did not care to return to the room upstairs or venture anywhere else.

Ginny sat on a chair in the farthest corner, investing her very best effort into breathing. Hers was the only chair that still stood in the hall, upholstered with what was once probably red velvet and now was just a dusty imitation. One of its legs was shorter than the others, and she found herself rocking in her seat, listening and counting the soft tapping sounds it created against the floor. Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap.

"Ginevra, please stop that."

The sudden tender voice broke through her stupor, making her pause midair. Sensing her muscles bunch in agitation, she dropped back down and resumed her rhythm. "Stop what?" Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap—

"_That_," he barked, and she saw him swing his wand towards her.

She cringed violently, but no blast came. Instead, a ring of laughter circled the hall.

"Do _not_ provoke me."

The ballroom was cast in shadows, molded and shaped by the small flickering flames that somehow managed to give off neither light nor warmth. The soaring arches of the ceiling rendered a feeling of smallness and insignificance. The bare walls and boarded windows embellished the sensation of being trapped and doomed. And in the center of it all, perfectly fitting into the picture that embodied punishment and torture, there stood a raven-haired man, the spitting image of two completely different boys.

Ginny's breath shuddered, as she watched him finally stop in the middle of the hall, beside a small round table he had placed in the center. She had seen it when she first walked in – red wood, still lacquered in patches, with the engraving of a dragonfly in the middle. Suddenly the table and its placement, in the heart of the hall, became of utmost importance, and she felt her stomach clench painfully. The man stood motionless for a moment, his fingers tracing the dragonfly, then he looked upwards at the ceiling, and finally turned to her with a smile. His preparations were done. It was time.

He didn't bother with invitations. Abiding by the motion of his wand, the chair that Ginny occupied sprung into the air, rushing towards him. She yelped in surprise, gripping onto her seat for dear life, and when she was certain she could hold herself atop of it no more, leapt down before the chair barreled into something. She landed awkwardly and toppled to the ground, where she watched Tom hurl the chair crashing against the opposite wall. Using the round table to heave herself up, she stood, dusting herself. Her mouth was pinched into a sour line, but she no longer recognized the emotions coiling within her.

Tom turned to her and bowed with a flourish, holding his wand aloft and at the ready. "You are about to be introduced to your future court. Are you excited?"

He was obviously enjoying himself, the gleam in his eyes triumphant. He could clearly see that she was minutes away from breaking, and he enriched his delight by mocking her with casual conversation. Oh, how she hated this man.

"Sick to my stomach," she ground out through clenched teeth and ran her hands through her hair, wishing to grasp onto something real, something solid and strong.

His features sculpted concern like talented hands. "Unfortunate. But a Healer will be here shortly. You can have her look at you."

She shook her head and turned away from him, refusing to look in those green eyes, to watch those slit pupils dilate with pleasure. "I'll manage without."

"As you wish," he hummed absently, his lips curving into a smirk.

Oddly, she thought to herself, this one did not remind her of Draco. Her attention was captured when Tom held his wand out, tracing the air in a languid motion. A wisp of green smoke lingered in its wake and after a moment coiled into the image that was engraved into the minds of all those who had survived Voldemort's reign of terror. The Dark Mark shone boldly against the dimmed orange candlelight and after a small flick of the commanding wrist burst forward in a flash and vanished. The Death Eaters were summoned.

Ginny felt her heart thud once, violently, and then settle into a nervous pace. She knew that the vagabond groups had been hunted down, and turned to nothing but pitiful scavengers, but the thought of them still brought a tremor to her hands. She sensed him watch her steadily, following her each step and motion with greedy, cold eyes. He was trying to invade her mind, she could tell, trying to force through her defenses and shatter the only thing she had left of herself.

Anxious to break his concentration, she spoke. "You should be aware that Death Eaters have become scarce. All of them are dead, imprisoned, wandless or hide like rats," she told him, adopting what she hoped was a vicious intonation. "If you thought, after all these years, an able army would be waiting for you—"

"You will be surprised at the level of loyalty I inspire," he interrupted her, unfazed by her jab. After a moment's scrutiny, he chuckled, adding, "And the level of loyalty that boy inspires will not surprise you in the least. Amazing how persuasive a trusted hero can be, even when he is promoting the same issue he fought against."

Ginny felt all color drain from her face. Her throat tightened and something, somewhere in the background, crashed. "You've been using Harry—"

"You keep forgetting," he interjected again, his mouth – a spiteful grin. "I am Harry. I simply have been talking. Implying. Initiating, seducing, promising." He allowed the words to linger in the air, reminding her of other promises that cut her heart at the moment. "Evil had not died when you thought I died. The beautiful thing about it is it lurks in every heart. And with the right persuasion can be harbored… and wielded."

Ginny shook her head, a grimace marring her face with incredulous disbelief. "It cannot be. They would have known, someone would have noticed."

"By the time they understood the truth, they have already buried their precious principles so deep, that they didn't even mind. There is great power in manipulation, Ginevra, remember that. And I do it so well…"

He turned his gaze away from her distraught expression only when the first pop resonated through the empty hall. She watched his brows furrow into a frown, as he took in the black-robed figure with its white mask, and saw again that flicker of irritation flutter past his face. He did not know who this was and for a brief, almost imperceptible moment, he seemed as blind as a kitten. Ginny took all the pleasure out of this thought that she could get, before a sneer carved his face, and the flabbergasted Death Eater scampered to redeem himself by kneeling to the ground.

Others soon followed, arriving with soft popping sounds. Figures in black robes and white silken masks appeared around the ballroom one after the other, as if simply stepping out of her worst nightmares. Some appeared in tattered robes, some were pristinely pressed, others' masks were sullied and worn, while some stood and stared at their master for long moments of disbelief before they were yanked to the ground by their comrades. When the popping stopped reverberating through the ballroom, Tom commanded them to rise. They gathered in twos and threes, some standing in clusters, while others preferred to be alone. Those expressionless masks all were turned towards the image of Harry Potter, who had summoned the Dark Mark as his own and was exuding such power, power that had only ever been in one wizard. Several dozens stood there in silence, faceless servants of the abomination, all too ready to adore and follow the man again.

Ginny's body betrayed her, as tremors cascaded down her spine, taking hold of her hands and her knees. She was surrounded by a sea of black demons, trapped as never before, and hopeless. She could not believe there were so many of them. Shaking her head, she leaned against the table to support her unstable stance, and watched them – these insects that would doom society into slavery.

Tom ignored her for the moment, watching the countless figures around him, taking in their mute submission. "Welcome… and welcome back. Some of you were somewhat surprised by my new… face. Rest assured, you are looking at the same Lord Voldemort that you followed years ago. New and improved," Tom added with a smile and turned to look around the men. "It has been a while, I would say."

Someone murmured and others joined in, nodding. Somewhere in the depths of the crowd, a nervous chuckle cut the air.

"But time's only influence was to strengthen our minds and increase our ranks, as you see. Despite the pitfalls along the way, it shows that our fight is necessary," he spoke loudly, proudly. He took advantage of the youthful strong body he possessed, the body of a leader, charismatic and awe-inspiring. He twisted that natural appeal of Harry's and combined his own inbred ability to intimidate and instill fear. The outcome was entirely unnerving.

Ginny felt his strong voice spear through her weakened frame, sliding down her aching bones. With such presence, he could command, demand and bend people to his will with such ease. Let him carry the right speech and people would embrace such tyrant into their hearts. Ginny stifled tears that lumped in her throat as she watched the Death Eaters murmur their consent. Some looked hesitant at first, but like sheep, taking their cue from the others, they too joined in with supporting voices.

"This… will be our final campaign," Tom promised, sweeping them off with his performance. "And I can assure you – this time victory will be ours, brought to us by the same boy who was spared by the Fates before."

Someone shouted in the crowded, and others followed their suit, moving and swaying with almost tentative excitement.

"But the Fates had their reasons and, as you can see, those reasons were to our benefit. We will no longer skitter like rats in sewers," he swore loudly, casting a mocking glance toward Ginny where she braced herself against the onslaught of adoration sent his way. "Who would ever refuse The Boy Who Lived?" Tom laughed out loud and others joined him. "Who would ever decline a plea to pardon the wrongfully accused? And who would ever refuse him in favor of information or money?"

The crowd was starting to catch onto the drift of his speech, and all too soon, the air became laden with malice and avarice, cruelty and wicked anticipation.

"And if The Boy Who Lived swore to assuage the Dark sides of the wizarding world, who would disbelieve him? And who, out of the fawning, groveling millions, would ever decline if he asked for the reins of the Ministry?"

The walls of the ballroom shuddered as the Death Eaters erupted into loud uncontrollable applause, shouting and whistling, stomping their feet and howling their admiration of their mighty leader.

Tom laughed, his head thrown back, as the room thundered with the rush of ovations. Straightening, he absently shook his head as he made his way back to Ginny, amused by something private. He stopped behind her and spoke up again. "All of our plans," he raised his voice over the clapping, signaling for silence. And when quiet fell, he continued. "Through this little twist of fate, have become… inevitable. But meanwhile, let me introduce to you the woman that will stand behind the great man." He placed his hands on her shoulders, pinning her to the spot as he spoke. "Mrs. Ginevra Potter. Many of you know her; others may remember her from the last battle. Peterson, I believe she amputated an arm of yours none too gently?"

The reply was grunted somewhere to their left, but Ginny was too busy keeping her bile down at the sensation of Tom's hands, as they ran up and down her arms, seemingly trying to rub some warmth back into the cold limbs.

He laughed at the response of his men. "Yes. She was an amusing opponent, and now she will be a good ally. A good docile ally," he whispered the last part for her ears only. "As a matter of fact, to commemorate her admission into our ranks, Mrs. Potter had agreed to perform a small ritual – a sacrifice for the Fates to ensure our success." He stepped away from her and came to stand before the redhead, his face curved into a grin, as he studied her face.

Ginny could see his frustration at not being able to sense her fear and loathing that much clearer with the help of Legilimens, and made a conscious effort to school her features against emotions. He seemed to notice then, because one eyebrow carved up and, after a moment, he smirked, as if accepting a challenge.

"Kurren!" he called out piercingly, and the name rung not only through the crowd, but through her mind as well. It was sickeningly familiar.

One of the robed Death Eaters stepped out of the ranks and paced towards them, the shape odd, as it appeared to be carrying something in the cradle of her arms. Heart hammering, Ginny watched the Death Eater as it bowed and placed something bundled on top of the table, unwrapping it and slinking back to rejoin the black mass of worshippers.

Ginny blinked awkwardly when her gaze rested on the presented offering. Over the carved dragonfly, draped in pink linen and wriggling silently, laid Olivia Perdita Weasley. From the corner of her eyes Ginny could see Death Eaters stirring restlessly, and for a delirious little moment, she hoped their consciences would choke them. Someone made a stifled sound, of astonishment, awe or protest, she couldn't tell. All she could muster to think at the moment was that the baby, so quiet and watchful with her startling blue eyes, was so much braver than she.

A glint of reflection caught her eye, and she looked up to see Tom produce a bejeweled dagger from his robes.

"The Fates had been with us every step of the way," he began once again, softly, his voice, perhaps, only supposed to reach her. His stare was definitely fixed only on the paralyzed redhead, and it seemed the dozens of henchmen no longer mattered, even though the entire display was for their benefit, for the most part. "Guiding and strengthening us. Now, before we embark on our path to final victory, we ought to pay due respect to the ancient deities."

He moved then, circling the table and Ginny in a slow languid stride, his each word cutting across the skin, leaving scars of hatred that would not heal soon. "This child, this—" His face broke into a disgusted grimace as he thrust the tip of the dagger toward the wriggling child, as if indicating a rotting carcass. "_Abomination_… has mixed blood of old wizardry and Muggle mud. It is everything that should be eradicated from our society – it dilutes our blood, leeches our magic and walks among us like an equal, like a flea-ridden cur wearing a dress and hopping on its hind legs. It clawed its way out of its mother's body – a filthy Mudblood herself – just as that flesh tried to kill it. And it had tried to kill her in return! This… can never be allowed to live."

With a dramatic whirl, he turned to face Ginny then, his face devoid of the grievous mask he wore for the monologue. His lips curved like a snake, drawing a lopsided line of cruelty and sadism. He tossed the dagger into the air and caught its blade, extending the hilt towards her. "And so, Ginevra, you are to do the honors… Spill the blood of the sacrificial lamb."

She stared in silence, choked by horror and something else entirely overwhelming and completely impossible. She felt something break inside and a tear escaped her vigilance, rolling down her cheek, coaxing others to follow. Her lips trembled, he knees shook, but she could not bring herself to scream. As if something within her was suddenly switched off, she no longer had the urge to fight, to stand her ground, to maintain that small sense of self that somehow kept her together throughout the day.

All she could do was watch him, paralyzed. Watch those green eyes, see the slit pupils and wonder how many times had she lain beside this beast at night. And yet… and yet, it all seemed so inevitable and, at the same time, irrelevant that she no longer mustered enough revulsion to recoil from the gaze. He was a snake charmer, being both the reptile and the magician, and she could no longer fight that drugging tune of surrender he'd been cajoling her into for… how many years?

He smiled. He took a breath and smiled at her, as if she was something dear. "A gesture of obedience and I might be persuaded to let you keep your free will." This was said in a whisper, an indulgent lover promising the world in exchange for a piece of her soul.

"What?" her mouth formed the word, and yet barely a sound frittered past her lips.

Leaning closer, he caught her slack hand and placed the gilded weight of the hilt into her palm. "Do this and I will have no need to break your mind and change your fate, so you will love me."


	22. As Things Fall

**Author's Note:** Gratitude, gratitude and some more gratitude to **jandjsalmon** and **dragonsangel68 **for going through the story and fixing all the blotches caused by nighttime muses.

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**22 :: As Things Fall**

A choice. He was giving her a choice. One murder and she could retain the freedom of hatred; she would not be forced to love him. She would be trapped by his side, of this she had no doubt, but… she would have her own will, would be free to despise him and simmer in that loathing all her life. One swift motion of the blade and Ginny might be free a little longer.

She stared at him, her trembling fingers closing around the hilt of the dagger, and she saw his eyes flash red. She drew the dagger from his clasp, her hands shaking, her resolution wavering with every breath. She saw the glint of fire caress the sharp edges and deemed to see the reflections of countless fidgety black shapes against the blade. It felt heavy in her hand, but then again, it was the least of her burdens. Clasping both hands around the hilt, she raised the knife over the writhing child and gasped. _Just… one sacrifice and she… she will not… she will…_

"Spill the blood, Ginevra, and you will have the time to come to love me of your own accord."

His voice traveled lightly to the shell of her ear, and she realized he had placed himself behind her, so close that his breath tickled the hairs on the back of her neck. So close that she could feel the beat of the dead heart against her back and smell the vague scent of stagnant waters he permitted.

… _she will be damned all the same._

With the swiftness of desperation, she plunged the knife downward with a cry. But the dagger sailed past the babe and towards the belly of the snake behind her. He moved at the last minute, but her blade slashed across his left forearm, leaving a deep gash and a blaze of satisfaction in her stomach. She heard him scream his outrage, and it didn't even matter when his fist connected with her skull, and she was flung away by the force of his blow. She cut herself on the blade and he retaliated with a sudden Crucio curse, but through all that pain she felt nothing but… freedom.

The agony – that everlasting agony that burned and bit and tore muscle and tendon from bone – stopped after an eternity of torture. Eyes wide and unblinking, mouth agape as she panted for breath, Ginny remained lying on the floor, vaguely registering the sound of footsteps echoing towards her and stopping near her head. For a moment she thought he might kick her. But he didn't. He simply bowed down and pulled the knife from her limp fingers.

"It seems like Mrs. Potter is not in an entirely forthcoming mood," someone hissed distantly. "I suppose, I shall do the honors, then."

Desperate, she tried to moan a protest and move to stop him, but the first usage of muscles sent a searing white flash through her body, and she had not managed to raise her head. She rolled it sideways instead and was just in time to watch Tom swing the dagger over the baby that had burst into a cry at that very moment.

"No," she groaned and forced her hand to reach out as the tears blurred her world beyond vision. "No…" Something wailed inside her, keening angrily and raving like a mad beast entrapped in the body of a cripple. Her body convulsed and the brief vision of Hermione's ridiculously happy crooning drove her mad. She blinked her tears and welcomed the thought of death, as the dagger descended towards the baby.

A thunderous roar shattered the silence as one of the Death Eaters sent a curse hurtling towards their master. The knife was blasted from his hands and, enraged, Tom snapped his head in the direction of that shout. Groggy and blurred, Ginny barely spotted a mop of singed orange hair, as it stood in bold contrast against the sea of black robes. Ron.

"_What_?" Tom's voice was suddenly higher, more furious, and dangerously wild. He sent Ron flying through the air, and with the same motion, sent more than half of the Death Eaters to the floor, thrashing in pain and clutching onto their left arms. The others remained standing untouched.

Confusion reigned over her mind, and she did not understand the rabid cry of anger that left Tom's throat, but it did make her feel better.

Ginny had clumsily climbed into a sitting position by the time he had stopped the curse on the Dark Mark.

"SEIZE THEM!" he roared, pointing towards those who remained unaffected.

And that is when all hell broke loose.

Confused and still reeling from his testing punishment, the Death Eaters began to attack one another. Everybody looked the same – the same robes, the same masks – and even as Ginny watched, she could not understand who was who. But her concern instantly swerved somewhere else as she snapped her vision toward the table. It was suddenly vacant.

Curses and hexes soared over her head, as she tried to clamber to her feet. She almost fell, but was unexpectedly grabbed by the hair and yanked back up. She howled in pain, but the fist only tightened, tearing at her scalp, and whoever it was began to drag her away. Twisting, Ginny grabbed the arm of her captor and felt the warm blood from her earlier cut. She tried to free herself, but Tom jerked her viciously and hauled her towards the door. A closely following wail of a child informed her that he was carrying Olivia in his free hand.

She groaned as she stumbled, dimly hearing frantic voices in the background hollering her name. She risked a glance and saw her brother and Draco trying to make their way to her through the frenzy of the battle. A moment later, Ginny heard a deafening blast as the door exploded into shapeless debris, and she was hauled, unceremoniously, into the pouring rain of the night. Hurrying away from the house, Tom pulled her after him, slipping and stumbling occasionally through the watery mud that flooded the trail leading to the cemetery.

Cold assaulted Ginny with thousand icy fingers jabbing accusingly into her flesh, then cascading through her soaked clothes and hair down her flesh. Tom jolted her head violently every time she tripped, but despite his steadfast grip, all she could think about was the tiny screeching baby. She tried to reach out to her, but slipping once again, she almost tipped Tom off balance, making him angrier. Now, seeing as they were heading now down a slope, he found it fitting to let her go and shove her in front of him. When she tried to steady herself, he kicked her in the back, and she went flying forward, momentum carrying her all the way down the slope.

At the bottom she smashed into the side of a tombstone, finally halting. Her chest was pierced with pain upon impact, and Ginny had played enough Quidditch in her life to recognize the feel of fractured ribs. Spitting mud and choking on her own awkward breathing, Ginny tried to blink the rain away and see through the downpour. Tom skidded his way down the hill almost gracefully, still clasping the babe to his chest.

"Your cavalry!" he shouted over the rain as he made her way towards her. "Has the most unfortunate timing." He placed the bundle of blankets on the ground at the feet of the tombstone, remained there crouching for a moment, inspecting her face.

Ginny's eyes were riveted on the baby, however, and she no longer felt his glare. She kept thinking how small Olivia looked, and how easy it would be for her to drown, to freeze to death or break something in this wretched situation. She couldn't help a small cry that escaped her lips, but she was ignored by Tom in return.

"Doesn't matter," he muttered, wiping his wet face with the sleeve. "They have their hands full for the moment, and this will not require more."

He pulled out his wand and clasped one of the tiny wriggling hands, opening her palm under the pressure of his thumb. Ginny whimpered and reached out to stay his curse, but he slapped her hand and blasted her a few feet away with a calm spell. "Blood of the innocent, Ginevra," he called jubilantly over the cry of the rain. "Required in so many rituals. Did you know yours was used when your father tried to break this prophecy? Not a month old and already involved with Dark Magic. Can't you see that this is your destiny?"

He glanced at her as if expecting an assent, but she was too disoriented from all the pain to listen to him. She just watched him bring the tip of his wand to the small pink palm of that innocent baby and mutter a charm. A severing charm. A deep gush carved into the tender flesh as he dragged his wand across that tiny palm. The baby cried fiercer, and so did Ginny, but Tom paid them no heed. He took out of the prophecy orb and pressed it into the palm, smearing it with innocent blood of his sacrifice.

Softly, he began the incantations. Muttering, whispering, hissing and spitting part of it in Parseltongue, he rose to his feet and stretched himself towards the sky. It didn't matter that thunder rolled or the rain had smeared the blood into watery trails along the surface of the orb – this miniscule amount was still enough to fuel his words, shape his magic. He carried on as lightning flashed overhead and continued even when the wind picked up his intent and began howling a eulogy of its own.

His voice rose higher and higher, reaching the storming treetops and bending them halfway to the ground in frightened obedience. Soon the thunder and the wailing winds were joined by the keening voices of lost spirits, dragged out of their restless existence by one selfish heinous man. They circled the grounds over the cemetery, screeching and shrieking and taking delight in all the death and all the suffering that crowned their summoner like a wreath of thorns.

The command in his speech growing clearer and more powerful with every passing moment, Ginny felt the magic in the air, stifling and encumbering and palpable. And just when she thought she might lose consciousness from the magical pressure, Tom roared the final words of his decree and smashed the prophecy orb against the tombstone. He had cut his hand, but it did not bother him and, grinning like the worst demon of hell, he walked to her side and held his palm over her face, letting his blood drip down and mar her lips, her chin and cheeks. She turned away, but he grabbed her chin with his other hand and clamped the bloodied mass over her mouth and nose, his eyes flashing with pleasure as she choked and struggled feebly against his hold.

The taste of his blood was sharp and tangy, and she could feel it hum with magic. Evil, killing magic. It coursed down her throat as she gulped for breath and swallowed hard, and infected her flesh and bloodstream like a disease. It crept, and slithered, and coiled… and then it stopped.

The wind died down and the rain gradually subsided. The trees straightened up and the spirits vanished, taking along with them their gleefully mourning eulogy. Everything grew quiet and calm.

Tom's eyes shifted about suspiciously, but there was no one around. He moved away from her, standing and turning, scanning the cemetery and the bordering forest in search of someone, something magical that had stopped his ritual, stopped his heart for a moment and sent a chill of fright down his spine. All that Ginny could feel on her tongue was the taste of his blood, still fresh and disgusting.

Then, the air moved, flowed, and rippled, like a pool of expensive silk, and above the ground, weightless and eternal, emerged three nude females. Separated by years, each presented the image of calmness in her own way – the youngest, to the right, shielded herself from eyes, the middle rested her hands on an increasing stomach, while the last one, as old as sand itself, pressed a hand to her chest. They were staring into the air, far above their spectators with white unseeing eyes. Olivia had stopped crying.

Ginny felt fear on her tongue and for the first time in too long, and it wasn't hers.

"Wh--Who are you?" Came the demand of the terrifying Lord Voldemort. Only his voice was higher and for a second he had stammered.

"Mothers."

"Sisters."

"Foes."

The last voice rasped through the air with the power of centuries and all of a sudden, somehow, Ginny felt both humbled and empowered. Forcing her aching body to move, she crawled carefully, slowly to the baby's side and braced the child to herself, trying to warm her with all that she could offer. She could feel she was in the presence of divinity, and a strange sensation whispered of a kinship she could never claim consciously, yet there was almost a visible silver string strung through midair from a heart to a heart to a heart.

"Lost soul," one of them spoke and Ginny saw that none had moved her lips. She knew that it was the mother who spoke, though. "You have been given a chance—"

"—and a chance—" injected the youngest.

"—and a chance to change. Your mother wept for you so…"

Tom fidgeted, his eyes growing wide with disbelief and fear. He could also sense the power before him, yet unlike Ginny who felt connected, he felt the threat as a heavy hand of the enemy on his shoulder.

"But like a man, man, meddling man you had to do, to skew, to ruin and destroy!" The voice was high and trilling, like an aggravated bird of song.

The middle female, the mother, slowly shook her head. It seemed that time moved differently for her and each of her breaths stretched through millenniums. "Child," she whispered, as a silver tear trailed a silver track down her cheek. "Poor child, we are so sorry." Leaning down, she reached her hand out and brushed a lock of unruly hair from his forehead.

Tom stood transfixed, paralyzed by the fear that raised its ugly head from the depths of his memories – each person, each life he had tortured and destroyed came to haunt him now, sensing that a final, releasing conclusion was nigh. He watched with horror as the motherly figure hovered beside him, bowing down towards him, like he was nothing but a child to console. He felt the cold whisper of a touch brush his cheek when she cupped his face and brought her lips in line to his.

"We promise you no hurt. You shall not hurt anymore, sweet, sweet soul," she crooned lovingly and a moment later covered his lips with her own.

Ginny watched in a spellbound astonishment, as the body of the man followed the kiss when the woman straightened. And when she finally let go of him, he was left hovering midair, limbs sprawled, head tossed back as something seemed to claw its way from the inside. Ginny waited with baited breath as a deadly silence descended on them all – silence that was only broken by a small gasp that escaped Tom's lips before he began to glow.

White light began to blossom in the center of his chest, humming, pulsating and growing with every thudding beat of his heart. But, perhaps there were two hearts beating in that body, both combined and desperate, which made the rhythm all the more beautiful. The white light spilled into his legs and his arms, nestling in his hands and feet before rising up and weaving its way to his face. There it paused for a brief moment, and suddenly it began to overfill him, spilling out and slipping through the seams of his canvas. The light flowed from his mouth, his eyes and nose, his palms and feet, while the kernel of it all – the two echoing hearts – continued to pulse in unison, growing fiercer and louder, until Ginny thought she would be deafened.

And then it exploded. The light erupted in a blinding splash of energy and color, illuminating the entire cemetery as in broad daylight. Ginny snapped her gaze away and huddled the baby from danger, but she felt the heat of the light as well, burn her damp skin with frivolous little fingertips. When the spectacle dissipated, she turned back just in time to see the body slump into the muddy ground in a shapeless heap.

Staring at the seemingly lifeless body in horror, Ginny did not notice the youngest of the three still present females bending towards her until she was much too close. The redhead jerked away, but the apparition simply reached out and touched the baby's cheek, her obstinate mouth curved into a smile.

"Brave little sister, welcome," she cooed and allowed the child to clasp her fingers with its tiny hand. Soft light graced the contact and when Olivia pulled away, her palm was healed. "You will grow a fearsome one," the wraith added softly and pulled away.

Ginny felt her head spin. Her vision swam and she clutched the baby closer to her chest, shutting her eyes tight. She wished them to be gone when she opened her eyes again, but it was not so. Instead, all three of them were staring at her intently through those sightless milky eyes.

"Sister," proclaimed the youngest.

"Dear daughter," the motherly one whispered, her voice rich and luscious like the finely aged burgundy wine. "You have been robbed of so much… But you have proven strength. You will not be left for your elders' mistakes."

Ginny shook her head, her mind throbbing with too much magic and too many emotions. "I—I don't understand…"

"You Father had paid with blood of his own. You…" The third and final voice lingered in the air like a promise of a summer storm. "You may rest now."

The ancient Crone leaned through air and centuries and lightly kissed Ginny's forehead. A moment before darkness engulfed her, she felt three pairs of light hands place her and the baby carefully onto the ground.

.

* * *

.

That night Ginny had her very last nightmare. She was standing in the Chamber of Secrets, alone this time, and at her feet laid a small crying baby boy. His hair was jet black and his eyes some indistinct shade of brown, but they were so intent that she hesitated before picking him up. When she did, however, he gurgled happily and grabbed a lock of her hair, putting it in his mouth. She stared at him in wonder and could not believe this precious child had ever been such a foul man.

Just then he gave her hair a sharp tug, perhaps to prove a point, and faded into the air. She felt his weight for a moment longer until footsteps echoed around her and she found herself someplace else.

"You'll have to let him go," a voice informed her and she turned around to see a worried, weary face of a friend. "I refuse to stand behind you."

Confusion laced her frown, but he simply shook his head and stepped aback. "I'm afraid I can't stay…"

The shadows swallowed him before she could say a word, and a sense of dread filled her anew. But this was a different fear, so much deeper and sweeter than anything she felt before. She closed her eyes and she was falling, falling, until she was barely waking up and someone just brushed the hair from her forehead and stroked her cheek. She leaned into the touch, but it was gone all too soon. And when she opened her eyes she only saw the tails of some expensive robes disappearing out of her hospital room.

That was the last she saw of Draco.

.

* * *

.

She woke up late again that morning, but still allowed herself a few moments of leisure. The last few days had vanished under the onslaught of numerous legal and bureaucratic actions she could barely follow – she had signed countless papers, given statements and restatements, testified and classified and almost falsified some things just to be let go home. Her new editor had granted her a three day vacation in exchange for an exclusive interview that she herself had to write!

All the Death Eaters were captured during the raid on the Riddle House – some of them influential officials once considered pro-Muggle, some of them renegades, some of them friends. Olivia Perdita was returned to Hermione in the hospital, while Ron had been issued an official gratitude from the Ministry. Ginny was retrieved from the cemetery and sent to the hospital, as was the still living body of Harry Potter. He had been sent to a closed off wing, assigned guards and monitored by Ministry Healers. Upon waking up twenty four hours later he asked whether the war was over. Through the eyes of a twenty-eight year old man stared a tired boy of almost eighteen, praying to hear that his battle had been won.

Ginny hadn't gone to see him yet. Ron had and thought it was somewhat disconcerting.

"It's him, Gin. Not even the him from the past ten years, but… man, he even acts likes a teenager with that stupid habit of stuffing his hands into the pockets when he's nervous," Ron bristled over a cup of tea, sitting in the Burrow's kitchen after the visit. "Last thing he remembers is the Killing Curse and then… I've never seen him so lost."

Ginny didn't want to see him that lost either, and that was why she kept postponing the meeting that was inevitable. But she was a well-known coward, and she was very much aware of that. She had avoided yet another inevitable meeting with a different man, but there was something inside her that demanded she wait.

That something was going to be crushed today, she decided that morning over a cup of coffee, and now, standing outside the door to a private room in St. Mungo's, decided to reevaluate her options. Suddenly, cowardice didn't sound so bad.

But she squared her shoulders, glanced at the guard down the hall and turned the handle. The room wasn't sterile white, as she expected. The walls were a pleasant peach color and covered with paintings, the bed made in dark warm colors and piled with pillows, while the windows were wide and stood open, letting in fresh air. It wasn't a small room and didn't feel like a cell. She looked for Harry and found him sitting at the desk, writing. When he looked up, her heart skipped a beat, but all of a sudden he appeared to be more scared of her than she could ever be of him.

He stood up and took a step away, putting his hands on hips, then clasping them behind his back and finally crossing them across his chest. Visibly trying to stop his fidgeting, he closed his eyes, inhaled and looked at her again.

"Hi."

That was enough for Ginny. She could feel a breeze brushing a lock from her face, the sun streaming in and warming the cool room, and this was Harry. This was the boy who chased away the darkness and grew jealous over her boyfriends, this was the shy awkward hero that made dreaming possible, this was the boy she fell in love with. Trapped in the body of a man she learned to dread.

"Hi," she echoed, closing the door behind her. She glanced back at him and watched him shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Well, this isn't half as weird as I thought it'd be," he mumbled after an extensive silence, while running a hand through his hair. "Umm, you want to sit? Or… tea? They left a self-heating kettle here, so the medi-witches don't have to come down here and bother with niceties. I—I make them nervous." He gave a brief sheepish smile and moved towards the small kitchenette without waiting for her reply, obviously just needing something to busy himself with.

Ginny nodded absently at his back, taking the seat he had vacated near the desk. The parchment unrolled before her was the beginning of an essay in Transfiguration.

"You're… you're studying?"

He glanced back at her and blushed. "Yeah," he murmured, turning back to the cups and the kettle. "Technically, I haven't done my N.E.W.T.s. And they didn't find anything threatening in Seventh Year level homework. Thank god."

She felt uncomfortable. The room might indeed be spacious, but it was still a cell for Harry, no matter how one looked at it.

"Ron said you wouldn't come." He suddenly took up the courage to speak again. "I—umm, didn't expect you."

Ginny could feel that he also, quite desperately, didn't want to have to see her, to have to face her. Ron had taken it upon himself the job of explaining everything to Harry and, obviously, his own shock had made the redhead a tad less than sympathetic. She supposed she couldn't blame him.

"I had to," she replied when he placed a cup of tea on the desk before and swept away the rolls of parchment.

He himself took a seat on the bed and put his cup on the nightstand. "Oh." He paused, a look of comprehension on his face. "Do… do you need me to sign something? For the divorce and whatnot…"

She paused, stalling by a sip from her beverage. This was far more embarrassing than she thought it would be. "Umm, no. The… Wizengamot annulled the marriage, seeing as you… were…"

"Voldemort?"

She snapped her eyes to him and saw the flash of frustrated bitterness. Her heart clenched. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head and leaned back, propping himself on his hands in a position that conveyed calm for the first time since she entered the room.

"Don't. That's pointless." He was looking away from her, staring out of the window and into the endless blue sky. "You know the sad part?" He glanced at her with a sarcastic curve to his lips. "Well, beside the fact that I've served as Voldemort's ride for the past decade and I'm trapped in a loony bin right now."

"What?"

His smile melted and he sighed deeply. "I don't believe he's really gone. I don't think he'll ever truly be gone. I think he really has outsmarted death and somehow, somewhere he still exists in some despicable pitiful form that will grow stronger by the year and will attack again in a decade."

Ginny's brows knitted with sadness and she rubbed her face. "I know what you mean…"

They sat in silence for a long while afterwards, drinking their tea and staring out the window. The skies were such a piercing rich blue, so uncharacteristic of this time of year, that they felt themselves bestowed with a gift. Ginny snuck glances at Harry once in a while and didn't understand how she had never noticed the difference between this boy and the man that shared her life. The two were completely different people.

"What are you planning to do?" she asked him, placing the empty cup on the desk.

He exhaled loudly, drawn to reality by her voice. "They will keep me here for a while. A long while. I think they have some old wizard coming in from Poland to check me for Voldemort," he said and chuckled. "Like they check dogs for ticks." He sobered at the thought suddenly and ran a hand through his hair again, spiking it into disarray. "If I'm… really me, then… well, they say they'll let me go, but this is the Ministry."

"When you're out," she started, stressing his imprisonment as temporal. "What then? You're going back to work?"

"As an _Auror_?" he exclaimed, incredulity visible on his face. "Are you insane? I wouldn't touch a Dark wizard with a ten foot pole after all this, let alone chase one!"

Ginny laughed. She couldn't help herself, and when he joined her, she knew that she would keep this friend. No matter what.

When they stopped laughing, he wiped his eyes and flopped back onto the bed. "I was thinking of moving south… somewhere warm. Perhaps even live with normal people. I mean…" He glanced up at her and saw her nodding. "My wand got broken anyway. What happened at the cemetery that night?"

Ginny startled at the sudden question, but assumed surprise was his only method of gathering courage now. She sighed, rubbing her hands together absently and glanced at the window again. "My memory is blurry—"

"My memory is gone," he countered evenly.

She had to give him that point. "I'm not entirely sure," she confessed. "I talked to Dad and he said… well, he said that I saw the Fates, but…"

"And what happened?"

She made a face at him and squinted, knowing this was going to sound bad. "I think they sucked out his soul."

"Like vampires?"

"No… no. I—I don't know. I just know that he's not here anymore."

He raised an eyebrow at her words and stared at her for a moment. "How can you be sure?"

Ginny evened his stare and smiled slowly. "I can. Trust me."

He shrugged and flopped back to the bed. "Doesn't matter. I'll still be waiting for him in ten years. He can't seem to stay dead for longer." He waited through her laughter before speaking up again. "And you? What are you going to do?"

Pursing her lips in contemplation, she stood up and walked to the window, pulling the curtain aside and staring at the charmed garden outside. "I don't know. Continue working, get an apartment, maybe get a dog…"

"Malfoy visited last night."

Ginny froze mid-thought and felt her fingers curling into the fabric of the curtain. Harry's voice was too casual to have no meaning, so she waited with bated breath for the continuation she knew was coming.

"I was surprised as hell, but he seemed too irritated to be polite and provide an explanation, so I just listened while he vented. And he had a lot to vent about." He scratched his nose and glanced over to find her staring back in silence and through a guarded glare. "Yeah… so, apparently, he doesn't like me much. I don't mind, seeing as I still think he's a cowardly little mummy's boy, but his reasons are far from being so childish."

"Now I remember why I found you somewhat annoying in Hogwarts," Ginny murmured quietly. "You've got Hermione's habit of beating about the bush."

"This is the most entertainment I get these days, Ginny, spare a bloke."

"Spit it out," she ground out through her teeth, biting back a curse.

"I was promised to have my face punched in, if I pulled my soulful puppy routine when you visit. Now, I wasn't even aware I had a routine—"

Ginny groaned and buried her face in her hands, ignoring Harry, as he continued to poke fun at Draco.

"Oh, I might have said something that upset him, but that was just a reflex. Hey," he called suddenly. "Are you canoodling with a Slytherin, you Daughter of the Weasleys?"

She grimaced at him, but he only laughed, and it was easier seeing him this way than to observe the morbid look on his face when he pondered in silence. "There was no canoodling."

Harry smirked. "Well, there was _some_ canoodling. Even I remember that time after the Quidditch match."

Ginny frowned and stared at him as if he had grown another head. "What time after the Quidditch match? There were no times after a Quidditch match! I only started tolerating him!"

He cocked his eyebrows in surprise and sat up. "What? I thought you had something going on back in Hogwarts."

"_What_? Have you gone bonkers?" she demanded quite seriously, having absolutely no idea what on earth he was talking about.

"No! Look, remember that match where you slammed into the hoop taking a shot? And had to spend the night in the hospital?"

Unlike Harry, Ginny had to sift through years of memories until she got to the right one. "That match against the Ravenclaw? Where Michael sent a Bludger at me?"

"Yeah, then. Pomfrey kept you in the Hospital Wing over night, and Ron was too drunk after the celebratory party to bring you your stuff, so Hermione sent me. And when I walked in, well, Malfoy was there and—you know…"

Eyes wide with horror, she swiped at Harry's head for stalling. "No, I don't!"

"_Kissing_ you, Gin," he mumbled the word awkwardly, reddening from embarrassment. "When he saw me, he scurried away like a rat, and you had such a happy face that I—well, I decided to say nothing to Ron."

"I was sleeping!" she hissed in outrage. "Pomfrey pumped me with sleeping draughts to last me until lunch the next day! I can't believe this!"

Harry had gotten over his embarrassment enough to burst into a guffawing fit right in front of her face. Ginny stormed across the room and grabbed a pillow from the bed to hit him with. "This isn't funny!"

He defended himself feebly, eventually not having the energy to even turn away from the attack. He curled into a ball, though, and continued laughing under the cover of his elbows, while Ginny tried to figure out how exactly she felt about this.

During her talk with her father, he had confessed everything. The prophecy, the ritual, the desperate attempt to do what was best, and finally the current reversal of the breaking ritual. The prophecy was valid once again and suddenly, as something curled at the pit of her stomach, Ginny had to wonder whether it was ever entirely void. Because she had followed him that night. Because she had trusted him. Because she had wondered about him all those years ago and because, apparently, she wasn't the only one.

The existence of the prophecy, but mostly her knowledge of it, made her uncomfortable, she had to admit. But if she overlooked that for a moment, she would see… that she was no longer hitting Harry, and he was staring at her in an infuriatingly knowing manner.

"Yup, that's the face Hermione got when Ron said something stupid. I've dabbed it the 'I'm-Stuck-With-_That_' look."

She shot him a glare and swung the pillow at him one last time before heading for the door. "I'm leaving."

Harry recovered enough to shout in her wake. "Think of it as improvement. From the Darkest wizard of all times, you've stepped down a few levels to a plain pervert."

The slamming of the door informed him that she was not pleased.

.

* * *

.

She didn't want to admit it. The thought made her uncomfortable and brought a distasteful expression to her face, but the warm feeling circling through her bloodstream was unmistakable. Retracing her steps through the Malfoy Estate somewhere in western Wiltshire felt like coming home.

_Not home-home_, she assured herself. Just a place you didn't hate. And made you feel very warm and fuzzy inside. Damn it.

Hills rolled gently in the distance, each covered with the fresh green velvet of nature. The clouds looked silver and heavy with rain, reminding her that this was just a temporary reprieve from autumn. The sun, that feeble jewel crowning the sky, gave off no warmth, but its light was glorious and breathtaking, and that was more than enough. The air was filled with music and scents of rain and life and freshly cut grass.

And Ginny couldn't help feeling ridiculous.

The career woman in her demanded to know why they hadn't Apparated straight into the house, saving all the time she spent dallying in his colossal front yard. The romance heroine within her was sullen for not being sought out first and swept off her feet. The sister of six brothers voted for physical punishment for Draco, who had obviously been avoiding her. The small girl within her wanted to hide. But Ginny herself just wanted to see him.

Of course, she really was somewhat miffed for his marvelous disappearing act. He had not shown himself since that glimpse she caught of him in the hospital, that perhaps was nothing but wistful thinking. She tried to tell herself the reason was very simple – now that Harry was no longer a threat, he felt no obligation to play the knight and compensate for the mother he couldn't save from abuse. But listening to one court clerk tell another how Malfoy had slipped him a fortune for a copy of the witnesses' schedule, and then not seen a glimpse of him throughout the entire Wizengamot procedure, was enough to make her sure. He made certain to know her every move, because he was so resolute on not being in the same place at the same time as her.

_Why_, she wondered.

_Because he was stupid,_ she replied.

She climbed the front steps and paused near the grand oak double doors. Contemplating knocking or ringing the bell, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. She was always a zealous advocate of uncouth behavior when it benefitted her person. The foyer was empty, but after a moment a house elf popped into existence near her leg. Its face wore a deeply displeased frown, but it dissipated the instant he saw her. His bulbous eyes bulged even further and it seemed to twitch its ears in excitement. Ginny smiled, but before she could say a word, it blinked out of the foyer.

A confused moment later, Ora stood beside her, pulling Ginny's skirts and silently begging her to follow. She complied, going after the house elf, past the deserted living room, the towering staircase, and somewhere down a dark corridor. After a little while the cavernous tunnel opened into a well-lit solarium, where a set of double doors opposite the glass wall stood closed.

Ora let go of her and marched to the door in an extremely determined manner, occasionally glancing back, as if to make sure Ginny remained standing there. Huffing in what could have been irritation had it not been a house elf, Ora pushed a door open and stepped inside.

"Master Malfoy—"

"Whatever it is, I don't care," a crisp drawl interrupted her.

For a moment Ginny couldn't draw a breath. That voice… that stupid cold drawl, oh Merlin, how she missed it. What was wrong with her?

Ora refused to be deterred. "I understand, Master, but—"

"No buts, perhaps, or it's-for-a-good-cause, Ora. If it is something important, let Grandfather take care of it."

Ginny's eyes narrowed. She couldn't see him yet, but if the git was laying on a divan in his bathrobe, bemoaning his fate, she could have the distinct desire to kick him. She watched as Ora cast her gaze down, probably under his steely glare, and took a calm breath.

"As you wish, Master." The little elf walked back into the sunroom, yet forgot to close the door behind her. When she spoke her voice was unusually loud. "I apologize, Miss Weasley. Master seems to be somewhat indisposed."

A loud snort carried from inside the room. "Ora, there is no need to try and bait me. I am busy."

Arching a brow, Ginny glanced down at the elf. Ora shook her head and without another word disappeared into the corridor. The witch smiled at the small retreating back, and turned towards the door. It still stood open, beckoning to her in a strange manner. Straightening her shoulders, she walked over and stepped in, closing the door behind her.

The room was a bit dimmer, but that was in contrast to the solarium, Ginny figured. This seemed to be the study, filled with books and portraits of ancient men who watched her judgingly. Beside the wide window to her left stood a great desk made of some sturdy wood – oak, perhaps – not lacquered and unpolished. Head bent over charts of numbers and calculations there sat Draco, a pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, his hair somewhat disheveled and his clothes crumpled.

"Ora, I said I don't care," he droned evenly, his voice failing to impress irritation.

"Inconvenient, seeing as I came to have a heart to heart," Ginny said quietly, carefully watching her subject as one might inspect a butterfly pinned to a cork wall.

His back was the first to betray him – it tensed. She could see his neck shift, as he seemed to swallow. Carefully, he put aside the quill he'd been using and, slowly, he straightened up, leaning against the backrest of his chair. He sat there for what seemed like a long moment, contemplating something beyond her reach. Finally, he took off his glasses and pinched his bridge, his eyes squeezed shut.

"What are you doing here?"

She felt a pang of hurt, but tried to not let it slip onto her face. "Impolite. Can't you look at me, at the very least, when you're being rude?"

He put the glasses onto the desk a little bit too forcefully and half turned in his chair to look at her. Only he was avoiding her eyes and was staring somewhere above her head. "How may I help you?"

This time she frowned and crossed her arms on her chest. "Stop being an idiot, for starters."

His brows arched noncommittally and his expression permitted impatience. "Was there a reason for your visit, Weasley?" he finally snapped at her.

Ginny found herself shaking her head. "Came to visit a friend. He was obviously run over by the big pink elephant in the room." She yanked the door open and stormed outside, marching through the sunroom toward the dark corridor. The sun was no longer streaming in, which Ginny found amusing. Since nature wished to be so obedient to her moods, Draco should be warned to avoid stray lightning.

She made it halfway down the hall when she heard the door slam and a rush of feet in her wake. She broke into a run, but he caught her before long, and the next thing she knew she was pressed to the wall by a pair of forceful hands. She could barely see him – just a light outline in the shadows – but she could feel him well enough, her entire body attuned once her vision was lacking, and he was keeping himself well away from her. Just those two hands pinned her shoulders to the stone wall behind.

"Why—" He dragged that word out, his voice strained as he bent his head down. He could see her, and, apparently, the sight was unwelcome. "—did you come?"

Spurned by confusion and hurt, she tried to push him. She couldn't believe she ever dared to harbor sappy inklings of emotion towards this… this… this brute! "Why did you threaten Harry?" she hissed at him, not caring one bit, but wishing to answer a question with a question, just to spite him.

A sharp intake of air broke the darkness, and he suddenly let go, stepping away from her. "Ah, you've come to defend him."

That was not a question, but it was laden and wretched, and she couldn't help the way her chest clenched. She could see him better now, as he stepped closer to the pool of light, and there was nothing comforting about his sight now. He seemed… haggard.

"I'll issue a public apology, if you leave now," he dismissed her with barely a wave of his hand, keeping his eyes away from her, as he turned back towards the sunroom.

She listened as each step echoed in the darkness, and she couldn't believe her ears. "Are you _insane_?" She didn't wait for a response as she stormed down the hall and, when caught up, shoved him hard. "That's all you have to say to me?" She watched in satisfaction, as he stumbled and whirled around to face her once again. "After that night? After everything that's happened, after everything we've been through, you're going to dismiss me with '_a public apology_' to Harry? _Who_—" she almost roared that word. "—_do you think you are_?"

He stared at her in silence, jaw clenched, hands fisted, so obviously, beautifully angered. Some sadistic part of her was immensely thrilled that she could at least sway him to this emotion, if nothing else.

He refused to reply, so she continued. "I thought things had changed! I thought something was happening. You have been there for me— For Merlin's sake, Draco, I would have _died_ without you!" She stared at him desperately, bewildered and bare, and she wished so much to smash his glassy exterior and watch it shatter to smithereens. "And this is it? You don't have to rescue me anymore, so you can't even spare me a _glance_? Do you only notice damsels in distress?"

"And do you only look for heroes?" he snapped back at her. "You've got Potter back, and he even has the perfect excuse for his abuse – possession!" he exclaimed, sounding incredulous, as if it was indeed just an excuse. "What can be _more_ redeeming? You've got your hero back, Weasley, what do you need me for?"

Ginny shook her head at him in disbelief. "You're not being fair. Yes, Harry is back; yes, he is not a sick son of a bitch. But you have been there with me throu—"

"I will _not_! _Be_! Your _friend_!" he shouted at her, stressing each part with an angry wave of his hands. "I will not hold your hand through his rehabilitation! I will not advise you on how to make him more comfortable! I will not listen to you speak of how happily you're rebuilding your broken little home with that _sod_! I will not!" He turned away and dug his hands into his hair, before running them over his face and finally letting them drop to his sides. "Ginny, I _beg_ you… have mercy."

She only realized her eyes were welling up when a tear rolled down her cheek. It was then that she also noticed she was trembling and clutching onto her own robes for support. She couldn't bare the tone of his voice, laced with the cadence of a crucially necessary goodbye. She had to tell him, had to tell him everything, but her throat was filled with tears, all of a sudden, and she was so nervous that her heart hummed like a hummingbird, trying to escape the cage of her ribs.

"Please," she managed to whisper somehow. She was asking him for a moment, a pause, a tissue, but he heard none of that and simply shook his head.

He swallowed hard and remained standing with his back to her. "I honestly can't listen to this now. Go back to Potter, be happy, live forever. I'll be as ecstatic for you as you can ask of me, but… don't try to explain yourself. There is nothing you can say to make me change my mind."

The first time she tried to reply, her mouth was too dry and the sounds disappeared in her throat. The second time, she croaked, "I don't want you to leave…"

He stopped, a sharp gasp ripping the silence between them, and he shook his head. "Are you mad?" he asked softly and began to turn around. "Do you even understand how this soun—"

The rest of his speech died on his tongue when finally saw her. There was something in her gleaming eyes, in her trembling lips and her miserable air that made him shut up. He stared at her, swallowed once, twice, clenching his fists again, yet not daring to utter a word. When he finally gathered his nerve, his voice was hoarse. "Don't—"

"I can't," she whispered carefully, confessing a most terrible secret. "I can't lose you…"

Draco shook his head, denying her, denying himself. He almost took a step back, but checked himself. "I will not be manipulated—I will not be your friend…"

She shook her head as well. "I don't need a friend—"

"You have a husband," he insisted, steeling himself against her tears.

"I have an annulment."

When that sank in, she could almost see him shedding his burdens one after another, layer after layer peeling back to reveal a man of slender build, and dark past, and aloof eyes, who would bend iron, quell storms and tame wild horses, in exchange for one short miracle.

In this case, the miracle was a kiss. But it was neither one nor short.


	23. Epilogue :: I Don’t Want You to Leave

**Epilogue :: I Don't Want You to Leave**

_I don't want you to leave…_

When Draco Malfoy heard those words for the first time, his heart broke. They were uttered by the first woman in his life that made him both furious and excited in equal parts, and who had somehow gained control over his miserable person with so little effort. She was asking him for the impossible – to be happy for her while she built her life with someone else, to stand by her side, as she picked up the pieces of a broken marriage and gathered them back together like a cursed mosaic.

He couldn't believe she would ever be that selfish.

Despite his best efforts he ended up looking at her, and… everything fell away. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears, she was trembling and clutching the fabric of her cloak, and at that moment he realized that he was not going anywhere. Even if this wretched woman had the audacity to ask him to be the maid of honor at her second wedding, he would grit his teeth and imitate a smile for the guests. But she wasn't asking him to stand behind her and support her choices.

She was asking him to stay. She was asking him to come a little bit closer and take what he had not dared to hope for. When his lips crushed hers, she moaned in relief and gripped his shirt so desperately that she popped a button.

Draco had never been so glad to be rid of a button.

.

* * *

.

_I don't want you to leave_!

When Ginny said that sentence a few months later, she was gripping Draco's shirttails with one hand while the other moved to unbuckle his belt. He grabbed the wayward fingers and leaned in to plant a kiss in the middle of her palm.

"I have to work," he said none too evenly, as her other hand slipped under his untucked shirt.

"You will be working," she retorted cheekily, cocking an eyebrow at him.

He growled in response and pushed her down to the bed, pinning her bare body with his own. "You will be the death of me," he murmured happily and traced a line of hot kisses down the arching column of her neck. "Or worse, my bankruptcy…"

He was fascinated with her shoulder and spent a most glorious time memorizing the shapes and patterns of her freckles, burning contours of masterpieces with his tongue and lips. One of his hands ran up and down her side, taunting her breast with a ghost of a touch before tracing away, while the other was massaging the thigh of the leg she'd wound around his waist to keep him in place.

Ginny moaned under his ministrations and scratched his back underneath his shirt at the feel of his teeth grazing her collarbone. Gasping, she arched closer, vaguely remembering the conversation.

"Don't worry, I could support you," she whispered breathily.

In an instant he sprung out of her grip and away from the bed. "_Hell_ no, woman!" He fumbled with the belt for a moment and hurriedly tucked his shirt in. "There is no chance on this earth a Malfoy would be supported by his wife."

Baffled and irritated, Ginny blinked at him. "What? Who _cares_? Get back here this instance!"

"Sorry, darling," he blurted, grabbing hold of the robes pooled on the floor before hurrying into the bathroom. "Duty calls!" He emerged from the adjacent room and continued getting ready quickly.

"I know, and her name is Ginny Weasley!" She grinned at him. "Draco, you're the owner, nobody really needs you there!"

He swung the door open, paused at the threshold and chanced a glance at her. What sounded suspiciously like a whimper escaped his throat a moment before he bowed out.

Ginny dissolved into an uncontrollable peal of giggles on the bed. But a minute later, when Draco stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him and discarding both his tie and his cloak in an elaborate motion, her laughter died down and her lips curved invitingly, as she watched him undress.

.

* * *

.

_I don't want you to leave. Ever._

The first time Draco Malfoy uttered those words he was head over heels, heart over brain, unequivocally, irresistibly, inescapably, undeniably in love.

Luckily, so was Ginny. Because otherwise, the whole ordeal with the ring and the kneeling and the embarrassing visit to her father to request permission, would have put him in an awkward position.

But she squealed and she pounced on him, and though he went sprawling to the ground in the Weasleys' backyard with one hundred and forty pounds squeezing the breath out of him, he had never before felt as grateful to be alive. He held her tighter and rolled them over, pinning her to the ground with his weight. He kissed her smiling lips and wondered how was it possible that he had ever breathed without her.

She hummed something and extricated herself away from his lips. "On one condition, though."

"Verbal consent is legally binding, Ginny," he murmured absently, dipping his face towards her neck. "You can't condition it now."

"I get to call you Dracushor in front of everyone."

Draco lifted his head just enough to glare down at her. "I'll tie you to the bed, and you will never see your family again."

"Yes, but I meant after the honeymoon."

He laughed and kissed her again. And again and again, until an enraged voice demanded them to get a room. They ignored him for the most part, Ginny just waving her ring clad hand at her brother in a kind request for him to shut up. There was a silence for a moment, as he seemed to take that information in, and then his voice rung out loud and clear as he called into the kitchen.

"Mum, Draco just proposed!"

Alarm kicking in, the newly engaged couple scurried to their feet, managing to adjust one another's clothing right before a wide-eyed and thrilled Mrs. Weasley rushed into the backyard to validate the news. Upon seeing the ring on her daughter's finger, she gave out a loud joyous cry and descended upon them in a flurry of hugs, kisses and exclamations of delight.

Ginny laughed out loud when she caught Draco flipping the bird towards the smirking Ron just before being pulled down into another hug and barrage of goodwill kisses from his future mother-in-law. She couldn't get over how right everything had become and when they walked back towards the house, she felt him sneak a hand around her waist and press her closer to his side.

And there, by his side, she found her happiness, her strength and her destiny.


End file.
